Perfect Emily Dickinson poem for the worlds state of mind
A HitchHiker Poet
Posts: 129
Bless God, he went as soldiers
His musket on his breast;
Grant, God, he charge the bravest
Of all the martial blest.
Please God, might I behold him
In epauletted white,
I should not fear the foe then,
I should not fear the fight.
His musket on his breast;
Grant, God, he charge the bravest
Of all the martial blest.
Please God, might I behold him
In epauletted white,
I should not fear the foe then,
I should not fear the fight.
Don't need a raincoat, I'm already wet..
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The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird