My Pome


Hears a pome I thot I rote.
I'm not a pote of any note.

Jes lik to cee my pomes in prnt.
Where I ken fume an vent.

My desirs, like, came an wint.
Theys always, like hevn sint.

To the gurl of my drems.
My hart busting the sems.

I'll end thes pome for now,
Cuz, I thnk she wus a cow.


Cow

Cow Over the Moon in Love Ron AI

No word was intentionally misspelled in this
poem or cows injured to my recollection.

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Copyright 2026 © Ronald W. Hull

02/19/26

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