I want to go catch poems in the wild
with nets and shovels.
Will they struggle?
Will they go gently?
Will we need poem-sniffing pigs to root them up?
Yes.
Let's go in the wee hours when night flirts with day.
Take a snacky bar, and a juice box,
We might miss breakfast
Waiting out in the woods
For the crack of a stick
Beneath the paw of a poem.
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