These are my feeble attempts at being a poet. Don't hold your breath for a publication.
My Big Mouth
I wear my heart upon my sleeve
It exploded like a geyser screaming
"His first, best country, ever is at home."
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It rots and dies out of water
Just like a real flower.
I should have lain beneath the cloak
Denied all knowledge, laughed it off
But that's beyond my power.
Fireworks in November, no hiding this
From the next-door neighbours.
- Oliver Goldsmith
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