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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#9301voted by our readers
By Anonymous
Drip, drip, drip is all that I hear In this dirty, dark cellar made of fear. I'm stuck here wearing nothing but rags All because I stole flowers from some old hags. The King's...
Drip, drip, drip is all that I hear In this dirty, dark cellar made of fear. I'm stuck here wearing nothing but rags All because I stole flowers from some old hags. The King's...