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Aug 2019
The fly lit on a propellor of
a washerwoman whirligig
watched by a whisky sour wino
wearing a scratchy candied wig
he wondered about a wing-ding
under the comeuppance of rain
we struggle that way
you and I...
like ants burdened with twigs
close the door behind you
walk back in
.
Written by
shyspy
  400
     A-Anon and Mandalina
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