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Monday, March 18, 2013

A Play

What comfort
Can a poet say
As taxes come forth
Dues we must pay
What new ideas show
Except for a select few
Everything we know
Is based on what we knew

Trial after experiment
Knowledge, like poem, grew
Desire to create wont relent
Toiled and till entirely spent

Repackaged and reused
Perverted and abused

The hope in this scene
To keep the paper clean
Is smoke that is seen
When burning sticky green.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker