Poem Hunter
Poorer Still
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Poorer Still

Poem By Mark Philpott

In this life there are the rich and the poor. Then there is dale.
In a league of his own, or should i say a box.
He cant even avoid getting bitten by a fox, when he sleeps
which is on a bed of rocks, in his wooly cotton socks.

He drinks his cupa soup, throughout the long day,
sometime soon he may afford a bed of hay.
But for the moment rocks will do,
But in a bin, he must excrete and poooooooooooo.

He likes his life of crime and sex,
But unfortunately, it is with rats,
that creep in his sleeping bag, n bite his scrawny ass.
....He also cant swim.

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