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THE MUSE
A muse sat down inside my head and made himself at home: he gathered up some choice grey cells And cooked himself a poem!
This entrée was so tasty, such spicy rhyme and zing, that once the muse reached full and stop; -he started off again!
The first it was a stirring tale of I can, you can, do! The heroes danced with flashing swords, -piercing evil through
The second was a lullaby of feathers soft and deep; amidst a verse where cherubs sang -the muse fell fast asleep!
(finbarwright/Nov.5th mm)
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the poetry page (Click on the titles below for poems in the collection)
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