As I see table spoons
To seal rice and curry
From the far away moon
While i can’t from a dish
That kept ready on table
Full of boneless salmon fish
I see also the forks
As naughty as spoons
To cut spaghetti in air
To make it fall again
Upon my shampooed hair
If i am not a born poet
Then who really are
As i take my pet lizard
To the field to eat grass
While bring lions home
Thinking them stupid ass.
However what i do
And what i write
That does not matter
I am a born poet
For the reason wonder
That my mind holds great.

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