Cleaning the mud off one's shoes from a grave,
Would seem such a strange occupation to spend,
But what disturbs most in this manner behaved,
Is that they must track through the mud soon again.
Written by: Larry Sansone. In order to hone my writing skills (and for my own silly amusement) I am launching the O.C.P. Project: one poem per day for one year. I started the project on Jan.1, 2011 and completed the last poem on Jan. 1, 2012. Poems will be posted daily, whenever possible.
4/6/11
A lawyers job is telling us what we already know,
But often lack the wherewithal of truth to comprehend.
And when a name for all our pains is capably composed,
We nod our heads at what is said and feign enlightenment.
The obvious unveiled at last for us to finally see,
And act upon these facts anon, once council is conveyed.
Perhaps the one surprise we realize would be the fee,
We must afford for being reassured when we're afraid.
A lawyers job is telling us what we already know,
But often lack the wherewithal of truth to comprehend.
And when a name for all our pains is capably composed,
We nod our heads at what is said and feign enlightenment.
The obvious unveiled at last for us to finally see,
And act upon these facts anon, once council is conveyed.
Perhaps the one surprise we realize would be the fee,
We must afford for being reassured when we're afraid.
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