General Poetry posted May 5, 2013


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Rhyming verse

The AC

by Bill Schott

The abolished competition
They have polished off her crown
Constipated expectations
flatulating her around
No one wants her labels
They just label her a clown
And the folks who type the papers
Write their stinging inkings down
The last to cast a stone
Will be first to fetch the prize
Nuggets now are nickels
Now are covering her eyes
She'll be trading places
With some dirt from six feet down
The abolished competition
Never more to make a sound.

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