"Happy Birthday To A. Dish"
Poetry is like theater of the mind.
Where words are spoken in mime.
The mind doesn't have the day of time.
Poetry is rhythmic rhyme for all mankind.
But man has lost his way.
In the eternal spring's May.
See white bright sun knight's mysterious play.
An ultraviolet ray.
Please say that you will stay.
Never say that the world must pay.
Every day will go away.
By J. Billets -
August twenty seventh, two thousand fifteen
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