Monday, October 27, 2014

Why historians can't write poetry (II)

Today I lost my keys
And got down on my knees
Dear God, I prayed, please help:
All I can do is yelp.

I ransacked desk and floor
And Christ did I get sore.

image from

I gave up hope and search
And thought of Holy Church.

An angel smiled and showed me where
My old keys had been buried there:
Beneath my sheets, that's where they hid
To play tricks on my sleepless id?

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