I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.
I sleep very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can’t do a handstand,
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said—
I’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.
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2 comments:
He's the only poet I've ever heard of. Are there others?
No.
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