There is a natty kind of mind
That slicks its thoughts,
Culls its oughts,
Trims its views,
Prunes its trues,
And never suspects it is a rind. 

Added: on January 11th, 2006 at 1:08 AM | Viewed: 1491 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Jean Toomer
Poem: Unsuspecting
Poem of the Day: Jan 11 2006

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