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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 17:40:08 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 751
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Simon Jr.
[time] => 2002-07-19 18:21:44
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => When silly Simon Simpleton
Gazes at his simple son, He often wonders why he fights With people on his Friday nights. He knows his tact is lacking, still His son, the sapper, makes his kill. He drains their souls and drains their minds He watches as stern stuff unwinds. He tells them of their wrongful ways And laughs at their stupefied daze. He says they’re backwards from what’s right And assures himself that every night. He goes against immortal foes By arguing his mortal woes. The battle though, is never won For when he stops, he’s just begun. He can’t prevent his final fate And so his life is wasted weight. Socially, he’d not gone far By when he met that fatal car, His parents’ rites were all of those To which he’d spent his life opposed, And in the ground he calmly rests, Surrounded by those sheepish pests. A Hell in Earth, to which he’s bound Under six feet of social ground, Proves that he is truly cursed, For in his mind, there’s nothing worse. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 144 [topic] => 31 [informant] => Butterat_Zool [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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