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Winding up
Oh! How can I forget your face
The tenderness, of your embrace
Your precious smile, that gentle kiss
These things, I know, I’ll always miss
The way you’d squeeze and hold me tight
While making love all through the night
And how you’d talk the whole day long
Or sing some sad old country song
The times we had, and we had some
But sadly now the time has come
Two people left with broken hearts
Because you can’t control your farts
Editing stage:
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Comments
wesley snow
Fri, 2011-11-18 12:37
You're an evil man.
Dammit, you had me going. I was just on the cusp of trying to find some way to express my condolences at your loss when...
You know there is a special little section of Hell for poets.
wesley
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
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loved
Fri, 2011-11-18 09:56
Since this poem falls outside the ambit of great poets, i
can dare to comment ..
NOT a workshop piece ,
I gather.
Creativity itself is an art
and
modern poetry should
and
must be more creative ,
not extolling the values of dead poets ,
who had no guidance ,
as we have here in Neopet
loved