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A poem by Edgar A. Guest |
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The Junk Box |
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Title: The Junk Box Author: Edgar A. Guest [More Titles by Guest] My father often used to say: So in a box he stored up things, Despite each blemish and each flaw, And often when he'd work to do, And I have often thought since then, It seems to me he understood Despite the vices he'd display A human junk box is this earth Though bent and twisted, weak of will, [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |