Every morning, trash walks by
On brisk spring morning walk
Accompanied by a note book.

Why does it have to smell bad
To walking by poets who think
No end of good old poet nose?

Old noses thinks of a woman’s
Who accompanies a notebook
As if she walks in royal retinue.

These are trash men out to get
At your early morning’s poetry
That smells at bad end of nose.

Poet who walks asks not a why
But for whom a trash bell tolls-
For old poet and for his poems.

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