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Out the cot
man goes
to return
to the coffin.
Love has killed
m'heart,
which should have made
it
live.
When you take your first steps on that far distant shore
You might be hesitant,  nervous and wont travel very far
But people there will welcome you with warmth and open arms
So look at poetry as your way to open wide the door
And let this become one more step on another distant shore
No one here will mock you or cover you in scorn
If you hesitate to wander round new streets in early morn
Language is no barrier to want you want to do
Because poetry is our language so we will understand you
And so as the number of stamps in your passport grow you might become the one
To hold wide the door for the new and nervous poet first on a distant shore
Love its essence doth change
becoming sweetened,
mellow with age.
How art
thou, dear heart?

Well. Praise
God, no ill-feelings.
Jilted heart, benumbed.
Feelings died and interred
in forlorness' grave.
Sweet things coming out of China,
like that cheesy sheila.
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