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bubble bubble
toil and trouble
when will you
realize
you’re your own
muddle?

five six
pick-up sticks
all the live-long day.
another stick
on the pile,
I gotta walk
another mile
in these shoes
made for walkin’,
and that’s just
what I do.
walk walk walk
like a man
’cause no one
told me any different.

and in the end
vagabond
all you got’s
a bag of odd
twiggy treasures.

put ’em together
and you’ve got
a nice poet tree
or a bunch of
nifty shavings,
your life savings
in wordy wood ‘n ink.

put that in your pipe,
stick it where it’ll be,
or rent some water
and pith out some tea.

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