Bad poetry

Bad poetry

I’d journey to the rainforest to find a medicinal bark
Capture animals you needed to save and build you Noah’s ark
Collect the balm from Gilead to heal your sinsick soul
Give you all your missing pieces to make you whole.

Tell me what you want and I promise that it’s yours
Once I know what ails you, I know I’ll find the cures.
If money could buy happiness, I’d spend my very last dime.
Instead I’ll write bad poetry
And while away the time.

150 150 Stafford Wood
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