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Mr. Ink

Mr. Ink,
Is colorblind,
He's a dimensional man,
Who gives writing a try.
Is what you say in court,
If you don't have any proof,
Then you have to abort.
The blend,
Of red, white, and blue,
It's like a kind of shake,
That we drink as true.
It just waves in the wind,
And has nothing to say,
But it always stays up late,
And day after day.
We all need the control,
For lasting identity,
I feel it's so true,
In this land of good and plenty.
It's an up and down place,
We all know that by now,
You don't need to be dumb,
Or even high brow.

©1999-2018 Steve Bujanow

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