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~ Poetry by me ~
So the laurel´s now bay for the kitchen,
and the gold rings are broken no more
to honor and pay our poets,
as they did in the good days of yore.
Not letters they cherish, but numbers
Versed words hold in little regard.
But poetry´s spark still burns in the dark
And is fanned by the breath of the bard.
© 2005 Michaela
License: This poem may be freely distributed, provided it remains
unchanged, including the copyright notice and this License:
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