Poem
Where are the intellectuals
who sat on their torn sofas
drinking vodka in their loafers?
Four daughters,
waiting for their fathers
as arguments and wine
flowed,
and no one thought of the time
when nothing
would ever rhyme again.
copyright 2018 Dec. 12
If you like this poem, please go to my store
and get something more
for yourself or your family/friends:
www.zazzle.com/beehappynow
Thank you
Where are the intellectuals
who sat on their torn sofas
drinking vodka in their loafers?
Four daughters,
waiting for their fathers
as arguments and wine
flowed,
and no one thought of the time
when nothing
would ever rhyme again.
copyright 2018 Dec. 12
If you like this poem, please go to my store
and get something more
for yourself or your family/friends:
www.zazzle.com/beehappynow
Thank you
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