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I am old and worn blue plastic, with rusty metal chainsI sit and wait in the soothing sounds of nature.Here, you come to find solace in me.I swing you up high in the sky, ignoring the ache in my joints,
Inspiration has to be courted, But, like a person infatuated, I lack patience. I am easily frustrated By the lack of her favor, but
Seldom do I hear the rushing rain in December.Yet here it is, pouring down the metal and siding, making a waterfall-like audible sensation.Thunder crackles in the distance and the
It's so dark in here. I can't even see the cage that confines me. I shout for help, but not even my echo can roam free. I am trapped. I am bound by these chains, not made of metal,
i tripped today, somewhere between the road and paddy's grave, alone in the thickets and dusky heather, and in the silken morning fog. the blackbird listened as i sat and cried.
Unlike the potion #9 I hold no breathtaking purpose or rhyme I'm simply written to be that #25 poem, you see. And with this my master, will be so happy to find
Everyone comes from somewhere You came from a mother with arms wide open offering you love and care and well my origin was not so nice and fluffy. I had no mother just a maker who crafted me from metal and wood