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A short poem about the wee small hours.

Submitted:Jul 14, 2012    Reads: 45    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

It's 5am, hark!

I hear funk !(from the old man downstairs)
I bet everyone else is already drunk

(as usual)
So I'll write out a line
To pass on some time
And the old man won't end up in the trunk


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