The Race | Teen Ink

The Race

October 12, 2015
By ElisaTheDuck ELITE, Rigaud, Other
ElisaTheDuck ELITE, Rigaud, Other
323 articles 5 photos 168 comments

I could just write and write
And spit out every word that comes to mind,
But then I think,
"What would the point of that be?"
Poetry is meant to be treasured and cherished,
So I come to the conclusion that:
Poetry with no sense
Is like spring with no summer,
And bread with no butter,
And eggs with no bacon,
And night with no stars,
And Voldemort with a nose,
And the sun with no warmth.
Wait, and be patient,
And the bud will bloom when it's ready,
Not when you want it to.



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