Pastime Poem by Lev Brekhman
Pastime
Beating about the bush
Is a natural, creamy pastime.
Hours tick fast and smooth,
And brain quickly loads with grime.
... Bushes are growing thick,
And all population prospers.
Time may be sordidly bleak,
But this nobody deters.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: irony
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4/30/2024 11:39:41 AM # 1.0.0.1119
