Untitled

Poem By Robert F. Cronin

Procrastinate
If we could rid
This world of its pestilence
If we could rid
The earth of its racial hatred
Oh, what a joy it would be,
Forever youthful.
I believe I would procrastinate
Remember, putting off until tomorrow
What you could do today,
Puts you in a world of your own,
No necessarily the best.

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