Spit, my man, you have a need, <br />venom from your inner matter. <br />I shall tolerate, indeed <br />all the sounds and then the patter <br />of the tiny, hurried feet <br />that accompany your stresses, <br />chills and fever, welcome heat, <br />looking up to He who blesses <br />and who hears my kindly words. <br />Emperors in purple dresses <br />fly away like drunken birds.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yes-you/
