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How poems are made

I lay me down, and shut my eyes, And as I drift off, a voice doth arise, He speaks in riddles and iambic lines, and strangely enough it makes sense and rhymes. I tell him to quiet, to go to sleep, And from him, I ought not here another peep, But he dares continue and all I can do, is write it all down And post it for you.
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Written by
aisling
Published
May 7, 2014
Lines·Words
10·69
Tags
#sleep#rhymes#voices
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