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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Dear Miz Erma

You were no kin of mine
but I looked after you like one of my own
You were demanding and ungrateful
fractious and fussy
persnickety and grumpy
and no matter when I came
I was late
You never even learned my name
but whenever I think of you
I can't help but smile
Love,
The Other White Girl