Classic poem of the day
The old boy's seventy-three this year,
and keeps on dreaming of returning to the south!
If the Emperor would let me take off my official cap
I'd get myself a fishing pole and fish at Stone Pond!
Member poem of the day
Seven years I was blind you hid, seven years while they mocked and bid, seven years you followed and plotted, seven years on us innocence flesh rotted, seven years they died first, seven years you continued and cursed, seven years you encouraged the malicious, seven years recruiting those most vicious, seven years accused and all false witness, seven years sickness of you coveted in fitness, seven years time more than doubled now, seven years anyone could break this vow.
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