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Nude art to prude art

Prose that arose

Verse and worse

For the wall in your hall

Fresh from the press

The start of the art

   
Art home

The Tiger

He came, unbidden, from the night;
transpired behind the lids
of my tired eyes.
He lay, benign, with soft stripes
around his crown and me;
I with insomnia frown.
Each beheld the other for all time
and saw eye to eye on many things.
Sleep was not among them.