Poem -
The Keeper
Or Curious Onlooker
In these detestable woodlands am I often lost,Â
These, preposterous porcelain jungles of impetuous folly
I carry on without balm of Gilead
A minstrel, a mere utensil by which people without pencilÂ
Might write their many sinsÂ
I am the transcriptÂ
And I make note of everythingÂ
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Comments
,excellent poetry angel