Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Poor You.

I sometimes think you'll never come back,
You're gone for days, sometimes even months,
I worry for you, but you seem unphased by it all.
Perhaps one day you'll come home.
And leave outer space for the astronauts,
And the satellites, and that dog they sent up once.
They never had enough money to bring it back you know.
Poor dog.
I hope I have enough money to bring you back.
Poor you.

Part of a poem.

I could not post the rest.

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