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Rated: E · Poetry · Melodrama · #1349444
From the mouth of a frustrated bad poet
Lest I be forgotten in this strong stench,
I shall let you know it has come to pass.
Tired and drained, smelling quite far from French,
Sadly in this round I have gained some class.
Stinking power has faded;I'm so upset.
I must now take this into my own hands.
Standing on the ledge, I think I can let
go of the hurt I have felt on these lands.
Letting myself fall away from this plight,
the last of my stink floats into the clouds.
I know now I couldn't have won this fight;
I've never fought well against massive crowds.

So long, my fellow stinkers of the day.
I've come to find this isn't the way.
© Copyright 2007 Elisa the Snowman Stik (soledad_moon at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1349444