Wednesday, June 09, 2004

Poetry

You know it when you hear it, it often does not rhyme.
Your senses let you feel it, although not every time.
"Leaves of grass" and Bukowski, Kerouac and Rumi,
Lincoln on an envelope, that guy was no dummy.
We all had it in school, for some both pre and post,
Young girls in summer convertibles seem to dig it the most.

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