Red on Black
red on yellow can kill a fellow
I have never spoken with a dead
fellow, nor one ever bitten,
but rhymes do often sing
from reasons.
There is never a good
time or season
to stretch across a road,
end up like the flattened sleeve
of a rugby shirt,
or a bunch of crushed
crayons waxed over fresh
asphalt.
(shivers) Hate snakes.
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