(one of my personal favourites...)
467
We do not play on Graves—
Because there isn't Room—
Besides—it isn't even—it slants
And People come—
And put a Flower on it—
And hang their faces so—
We're fearing that their Hearts will drop—
And crush our pretty play—
And so we move as far
As Enemies—away—
Just looking round to see how far
It is—Occasionally—
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4 comments:
Gee you love her. Why don't you marry her?
Cos she's a virgin.
And what's the down side?
Nice one Pers.
Speaking of poetry, did anyone else see that the mystery bloke who used to mark Poe's birthday at his grave every year didn't turn up this year?
http://www.boingboing.net/2010/01/20/poes-mysterious-stra.html (don't know how to do link thingies, sorry)
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