Poetry (and let no man tell you different) is what separates us from the beasts. It is the gateway to our soul, and the evidence of our immortality. It is but a remnant of that heavenly spark bestowed upon us in the garden. It exists equally in the most base, and holiest among us. It is everyman, and the best proof of Gods existence.
November Snow November snow is never quite sure Whether or not it should melt or stay. Like an unwelcome guest showing up at the door It suspects you prefer that it go away!
More..G B Dent
Member since: August 2007
Articles Written: 52