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Literature Text
So many times,
You fell asleep on my bed,
At noon, or by night,
And I sat beside you,
Rolling a joint,
And everything Was.
A company felt
In the imitations of
Immortality
A distraction,
A perfect waste of time.
You fell asleep on my bed,
At noon, or by night,
And I sat beside you,
Rolling a joint,
And everything Was.
A company felt
In the imitations of
Immortality
A distraction,
A perfect waste of time.
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Note of interest, a reasonably famous ancestor of mine, Alexander Woollcott, wrote a book entitled While Rome Burns.
This is nothing to do with that, I haven't even read it (yet).
All poems on this page now available to buy hand type on cartridge paper with my typewriter, just specify which poem you want at checkout: www.etsy.com/listing/121441956…
This is nothing to do with that, I haven't even read it (yet).
All poems on this page now available to buy hand type on cartridge paper with my typewriter, just specify which poem you want at checkout: www.etsy.com/listing/121441956…
Comments6
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A lovely piece. Wonderful job.