11 | Woolgatherings | |||||||||||
Poe’s Lenore | ||||||||||||
Pants
hang on hook on back of door Just said goodnight to Poe’s Lenore. Bottle of Scotch, was Dewar’s I think My boots under her bed, my nose at Her cheek, drifted off to blissful sleep. I dream easy of when
I was young, A handful of clouds
and I was on my way, A future I made with
each passing step, with But her castle keep
contained every manner of ghost, We lasted as long as
we stayed in the wall, away from |
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R. Milan Gura | ||||||||||||
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