Poetry Blogs (effluent)

I worked all through the Winter,

on my Swan, then it got dashed in water,

a cruel joke from some playmate or other,

sadly it didn't float, but neither even would 

my flimsy boat (one would imagine).

Trouble was the books were too old,

too fusty, specialised;

I grabbed them from the library eager

only to arrive back home and within five minutes

had lost patience...

con...

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