Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.98

From Email:	Required Email Address Not Valid.
To Email:	Email Address Not Valid. Required
Subject	Required
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem	The sun, a heavy spider, spins in the thirsty sky. The wind hides under cactus leaves, in doorway corners. Only the wry Small shadow accompanies Hamlet-Petrouchka's march - the slight Wry sniggering shadow in front of the morning, turning at noon, behind towards night. The plumed cavalcade has passed to tomorrow, is lost again; But the wisecrack-mask, the quick-flick-fanfare of the cane remain. Diminuendo of footsteps even is done: Only remain, Don Quixote, hat, cane, smile and sun. Goliaths fall to our sling, but craftier fates than these Lie ambushed - malice of open manholes, strings in the dark and falling trees. God kicks our backsides, scatters peel on the smoothest stair; And towering centaurs steal the tulip lips, the aureoled hair, While we, craned from the gallery, throw our cardboard flowers And our feet jerk to tunes not played for ours.
	Type the characters you see in the picture Required