Fig.897.2) et Si |
The wreck and the doom of a vaudeville bloom
Rose as rose can be, limited to fault and grief
A blanket, an old mess in the lions tomb
and across the room, the funniest joke that's ever been
Getting wet to the knees or more
Something like fear filling it's core
like a rag being stuffed inside something pushed way too full
There's a rattle and a rasped gasp lingering past
then drowning's served, the gig's observed
Law this fragile strake is seen
On a frail face there's an old smile suggesting time and place
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