Quick poem written in a pub, could have added more but would rather converse with friends.

Forgot to title this one

I'm too damn busy, a joy and curse. But not too busy To create this verse! Too lazy for a busy synonym, I rather have the taste of cinnamon. So we rhyme in slant, Like the night of the eve The growing plant, Heart upon sleeve. Older we grow, And Pressure accumulates... Cookies that crisp... Continue Reading →

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