Thursday, November 2, 2006

Poetry Thursday

Again, an offering from Rose.
Kipling

Because Rudyard Kipling grew up in the Far East
That is what he wrote about until he was deceased
For the smog of London never did look quite so fine
When he thought back to the jungles of Indian design.

But his poetry would speak about whatever he could see
And what he would say never left a mystery
For what he said, he said quite plainly, stating all in black and white
Which is why some critics said that he never got it right.

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