Idle never boasts love, Just passing number lines, One double double four; Pass grapes divine tor, More sunlit they bore; Pi simple, three point one, Four.
Driving to the cottage, Mouths full of espoinage. Talk of bondage world, Floral arrangements, Done by potheads.
Once great poems in the form of epic, Tragically short was my bite of danish, Therefore I re-post a poem from 2012. Current relevance being to a shelf.