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Written by joseph bejcek poewhit
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Tuesday, 12 September 2006 |
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The web site has no crash.
Poetry is the last.
Flights of fancy into the night.
Others it gives a startled fright.
The heart and soul come forth.
It's all part of the broth.
Smell the aroma down the hall.
Call-Call-its poetry tall.
Songs are only second best.
Poetry is class with tests.
Never come down from that cloud.
Some poems speak loud.
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Last Updated ( Thursday, 28 September 2006 )
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