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Milk is an interesting being,
infact I struggle to see what I'm seeing
it could be described as intriguing.
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Actually, no. It couldn't.
To describe Milk in such a way
is plainly a silly way.
So what do I say?
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I'll tell you what I say...
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Milk is like silky dirt,
it's cold, creamy and heavy.
Milk would look stupid in a skirt,
Or jeans, or even a plain white shirt.
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How can I comment on Milk in such a way?
Well, I can, and that's all there is to say.
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Spoiler
Poetry's not my thing, but I thought I'd try and go for a free-style of poetry based on a similar style to my book, "Earth & It's Contents" -- by this I mean I'm moaning about an irritating subject that I know nothing about and my argument doesn't make any sense. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the "irregularity" of this poem 
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MILK (Edit 1)
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Milk is like silky dirt,
it's cold, creamy and heavy.
Milk would look stupid in a skirt,
Or jeans, or even a plain white shirt.
It goes everywhere you want
and nowhere you need,
but could we live without milk?
I couldn't perceive.
Milk isn't perfect, but neither are you or me.
So let's grasp milk for what it is
and nickname it Milky.
For, after all, such a saviour deserves a name
and milk isn't all-that lame.
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So there we have it boys and gals,
be milk, Milky and milks
for we all deserve a name.
