A HEAD OF ROD
Dear Great lord,
Kisser of my daily slum
before my pillow Vom.
Sleep could be the first Bomb
to send to rolling in bed before.
Will I only give rhymes and forget not?
O' if so, I must run.
either to my head or something that gives me rod.
Dear Great Knight.
Perfect I am Now.
Beware of mine to bow.
Permanent in mine, not how.
If I must go in rhymes, perfect and fine.
Must I, I must to hold a head of rod.
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