Hidden Poem
A collection of unseen and foreseen poem.
A Camp | 9:02 AM |
Filed under:
Robert Louis Stenenson
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The bed was made, the room was fit,
By punctual eve the stars were lit;
The air was still, the water ran,
No need was there for maid or man,
When we put up, my ass and I,
At God's green caravaserai.
~Collected Works of Robert Louis Stenenson
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