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Ode to spoons (Ode) by Dostoyevsky

Oh happy rumbunctious spoon, You strange crazy moon, Made of finest sheffield steel, Or, plastic with a tacky feel, Full of modern domestic use, And never suffering verbal abuse, You stir, trickle and fold, Porrage thats 4 days old, Oh perfectly formed stirring tool, With more uses than a wooden stool, To dismiss you as another appliance, I will fight with great defiance, Though of your infinite simple pleasure, I cannot continue to write without measure, Of all things that must come to an End, So must my poem of you, my faithful, friend,

Yardbird 13-Apr-03/12:55 PM
Absolute shit - 0.




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