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Pup
Some idiot flicked off my switch,
now I'm lit to cold eyes of blinded
this doggie with the waggly tail,
at least a best friend as I sail.
What's a dateline to what's fine,
how every blinded sees with wine
and how they dine in my eyes
and the lies upon my father dies.
I wish, I had more to give,
than once this child's wishes,
to never be forgotten in time
and better flow and the rhyme.
I'll rather be a straight line
than how I'm the wobbling.
Be here as time crumbles,
empty as a stomach rumble.
There's never anything more,
than the poison of a garden bore.
Copyright ©
Ryan Geoffrey-Hayward
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