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Silencing the Owls (Bugged by Workshop on Cliches)
Silence is golden
but this was a bizarre night
my mind was on a hot trot
thoughts running minute a mile
I wish I was at peace
not knocking the cover off the ball
by keeping my nose to the grindstone
with all hands to the pump aplomb
I was too blind to see
what the stars did fore tell
nothing but a chicken wing
was my forsaken fate
Luck as scarce as hen's teeth
despair deeper than the deepest ocean
hopes returning like a seven year itch
unmindful that Love is blind