Behold the table over there
where dwells an empty plate
although no things are there upon
nor finite is its state
So many days have passed it by
at slow and rapid rate
to commiserate or celebrate
depending on the date
It sits there without malice
unaware that it must wait
without sight and sense or feeling
quite indifferent to its fate
Clever you are, Mr poet-man. You'll have a rhyme for every word at the rate you're going :)
ReplyDeleteYou know me, it's where the mop flops or what ever slaps my face.
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