I'll let you keep your turf, your sod, and all beneath
Earthy necessities to all of those who squirm
Through life's dank tunnels like a dirt-eating worm
Devoid of brains, eyes, heart and feeling as of teeth
As living slime crawls underfoot
My fitting rhyme galls, bitterroot
On 16:56, Andrew Fildes wrote:
>No more than I expect, ill-lettered serf
>That you should misdescribe my turf.
==
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