I was blindside to the gutter when the gutter said to me,
"Please, Poet, leave your anguish out -- it's very hard to
see."
That may be all too blinding true, that the world is hard as
stone,
But I draw the line where a cobble will bite me to the bone.
A bit doggerlish, I realise, but an attempt to write in dipodic metre.
( Just to chuck another spanner into this particular argument.
<g> )
A Rhyming Dormouse
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