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The Poet...
Make hay
where the grass grows
and stay
when your love glows.
I'd hitch-
hike if my toes
would itch
but until then
my niche
is where this pen
can play
again, again.
Why stray
on a fine day?
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...The Muse
And will
you be so drawn
to me still
if the days dawn
when rain
is scarce and lawn
and brain
are burnt? I yield
my grain
on any field
or hill.
But those who've kneeled
I will
shower and thrill!
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