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this is a very touching poem that reminds me of my great-grandma-ma urani
who had an untimely death while on holiday in liverpool. the poem's
essence lies in the glimmering eyes of the ghost reminding me of the glazed
over look my grandma-ma had every time she hit the old moonshine. the
explosive flatulence she passed after the ingestion of the beeferino is
reminiscent ofthe fog gently rolling over the hills. grandma-ma enjoyed
long walks on the beach, quiet afternoons at the frat house and drinking
bosco.
mike bobka from China