Saturday, September 12, 2015

A Turd, Gilded

You aim for everest
With only the skill to cross a hill
You wait for gold
When silver is handed to you
You cock your head, bewildered
Offended I'd reach out to you
A corpse sitting quietly
Ready to decay
Delay, postpone salutations
Till a ring would have no place to hang
Keep waiting on prince charming
No one wants the farmer
Every peasant girl is a princess
And every man is a pauper



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