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Each night father fills me with dreadAs he sits at the end of my bed.I’d not mind that he speaksIn gibbers and squeaks,But for 17 years he’s been dead. — Edward Gorey
josh_bisbee about 9 years ago
First poem
thesource about 9 years ago
he’s a poet and doesn’t know it
Farside99 about 9 years ago
Now that’s the right kind of poem for Wiley!
neverenoughgold about 9 years ago
There once was a man from LenoreWhose mouth was wide as a door.While attempting to grin,He slipped and fell in,And he laid inside out on the floor…
Godfreydaniel about 9 years ago
A pearl of a poem!
Chithing about 9 years ago
Each night father fills me with dreadAs he sits at the end of my bed.I’d not mind that he speaksIn gibbers and squeaks,But for 17 years he’s been dead. — Edward Gorey