Cab, Pickup

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  • Nature

    Cab, Pickup

    Malibu;
    Is the feeling today.
    With a hint of grey;
    Dashing under the under-lay.
    A passive white can reveal;
    The golden glory of being still.
    And I do not say to count the stars;
    A map will do behind bars.
    Present whimpers like lightning and limbers out wisk rowing.
    So, staple latern cause.
    A dear, dear, loss.
    To think anything of a lantern,
    I lost the test, the thought, the low earn.
    Maple fall.
    Low end call.

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    Poetry is what is lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Paulppaul’s Poems (5)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    A Life 0
    I Want A Girl 1
    Iowa 0
    Man, I Fold 0
    Cab, Pickup 0