I've been reading over my old blog posts, and I decided that I need to write more bad poetry here. I know, I know, if you wanted something that wasn't funny, you could read R'thoria, but I'm doing it anyway. Enjoy!
The snow falls in the quiet eve
For some time yet, I shall not leave
'Til the ice is gone and clouds are spent
I daren't drive with the roads this bad
The night has come again
The howling can't begin
The wolves and coyotes buried deep
The snow makes them want to sleep
Green snake, sugar cane,
Rapping on my window pane
'Kay, this poem's awfully lame
I think that I'm done with this game.
"The true criterion of the practical, therefore, is not whether the latter can keep intact the wrong or foolish; rather is it whether the scheme has vitality enough to leave the stagnant waters of the old, and build, as well as sustain, new life." -- Emma Goldman
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