But ’tis putrid, and yet some are sensible,
Are as a impacted spirit
Peculiar strangers of prisoner and of tantrum
It is the rusted oil,
The kisses are become stunk, the spice is grappled by a concrete:
Were as delightful as my lie, til ambiguously it stunk
This entry was posted by Wonderful Poetry on May 8, 2011 at 4:26 pm, and is filed under Uncategorized. Follow any responses to this post through RSS 2.0.
You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.
Enter your email address to receive new poems by email.
Join 825 other subscribers
Wonderful Poetry Machine is a vogon poetry generator built by Gabriel Serafini, John Tamm-Buckle, Damon Wallace and Steve Wamsley.
The poetry engine was originally developed to go into a lovely iPhone app that unfortunately got cease-and-desisted by the estate of Douglas Adams. So we decided to go ahead and present it here for your amusement.
If you like this follow us on Twitter: @wonderfulpoetry & @vogonpoems