|If one bites the bully.
The bully will bite thee.
As frost upon the window glass.
Records the dance for tea.
|The fire logs, now are-plenty.
No tip-toes over clothes.
Burning alot, but never hearing.
Five pennies in the loads.
The poem that wins your vote migrates up a Ladder in rank one step.
The poem that looses your vote migrates down a Ladder in rank one step.
Go see the real time Ladder results, (but please
contribute six or seven votes first).
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