Poems With A Best By Date
I just might drop cap poem 93 and fricassee some filigree that’s baked into nominal love poems 17 through sixty-nine…
Nein! No time. And all that might be fine, but folly. As nobody embraces any other’s back catalog, no matter how decoratively fronted.
So, as a doggerel-ist, I pause, to bow wow the hard bark of web snuffle habitual rituals. Old dog. New tricks; Ruffle.