The Poem
by Karen A. Freeman
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Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck . How I pity the poor soul who is measured by rhythm and rhyme. They may find that day and night disappear in time. And words loose their meaning when bells of the heart chime But true poetry is preserved in every language Even a cliche' looses it's triteness with it's familiar sound so that new wisdom is hailed were only dead lines were found. |
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Graphics by Moriah's Web Jewels
©1987 Karen A. Freeman