poem7

Lift me up in your prayer to Jesus Uniform in care not in pieces Ask him i am a success i start a fad Let there be no guess don't get mad Blue collar Papa worked his body to death Grandfather needed altered before the wreath It was hanging on his door he had died My brain is what for that i replied I want to write eight poems a day week i want three days off For them i rest I'll take it soft I'll go to a movie, go out to eat IZ'll daily work hard and vigorously breathe I won't be stuffy I'll be lovely Tears come to my eyes they get puffy I'll give tbi donations to the hospital too Galaxy's favor i'll have i'll be thorough It won't be to church every girl turned me down But nice car driving dudes look around Enough of the church i had enough of that For the preacher's pay they work their paycheck's phat My poetry books are given to each preacher to help their outline Shun beer at any measure shun the wine I quit reading the Bible to have it read to me The world makes me look ugly and there is no beauty

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