this poem earned me a gold ribbon on All Poetry - the instructions were to write bad poetry.
eye don’t no what you were saying too me when I got my pension butt there were at lease to things u were two smart to mention I can knot say them now bee-cause it would B blatantly bold Weather or knot you say them yourself, defines us as used up and old. eye don’t know why you are still hear, you annoy me sew much there is something bovine about ewe and you have the weirdy cat touch. I can say with curtainty that we probably have know future at all. The game is in your court. Hear, my deer, is the game ball.
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