BYC Poetry Club!

Roses are red. My name is not Dave. This poem makes no sense. Microwave.

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A went across a field,
Where across it there was a road,
Along the road was a sign that said yield,
This road lead to a humble abode.


It isn't my best, lol. I was trying to accomplish the Rhyme scheme: AB, AB.
 
Chickens, chickens.
How many do you have?
Twenty-four.
How many do you want?
I want more.
Forty-five?
No, I want more in my life.
Ninety-two?
That little amount? I could fit in my shoe....
 
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I don't have anything. I think everyone is just saying my stuff is good but it isn't. So I'm not gonna post.
 

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