Earlier today, I started writing this poem and I hated it, so what I did, was I just started taking bits and pieces of it, and I mixed it up. I thought it was really cool even though it makes absolutely no sense at all.
But anyway, this is it--the poem that makes absolutely no sense at all.
that would go on for me to come.
There was a everyday I was walking up that walkway,
I’d for usually listen to your stories sat slouching white house f what we all knew as Helen’s Lane,
At the edge with a picket fence and a porch hours.
You’d look at me for much
To where you swing.
It felt like waiting -needed advice.
OMG...am I weird or what? But I LOVE THIS!
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