Poem # 7- Brew

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Later I guess I'll rest
And maybe overlook my mess
And things go round and smooth
Sitting whilst tapping my shoe.

A paper on due?
Maybe I'll spill and brew
And brew again; but to my body
Colliding with powder and water.

The hand ticks and rotates
And you just sat down, wishing your stakes
Like it's the purge of getting some rest
Throughout a yellow summer.

Brew and get what you want
For the karma is always at hand
Remember, dear one, I warned you—
I warned you about your wasted chance!

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