Much alike her best kept secret
and well within her sudden reach;
till she next wrecks herself again
on words that stammer into speech.
And it isn't much, I contend, alas
but some talk shall evermore, be futile;
as inebriation lives a stone's throw away
with common people that make one rile.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment