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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 15:52:20 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 120510
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Old Bill
[time] => 2006-05-22 05:57:15
[hometext] => This is a poem about my neighbor.
[bodytext] => Down the road where time stands still lives an old old man who goes by Bill He speaks a language invented by him. and has a white beard on his chin. He never owned a car only a tractor. And his only job is a meat packer. He has a laugh that sounds like thunder. and his house looks like the 8th world wonder. His eyes are the colors of a nearby stream. Look into them and get lost in a dream. On the porch he sits every summer evening He watches the sunset and hears the birds singing He utters a tranquil hum as he rocks on his chair. The world passes him by, yet he is unaware. Old Bill never went to what we now call school. His school was the farm and lessons digging holes So come on by and walk down the hill. and see the man who is called Old Bill. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 216 [topic] => 7 [informant] => yackerz85 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 6 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => HumorPoetry )
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