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Local Poetry
The King is Dead By Dave Marsh
I was 10 at the time I wrote this poem.
"Stand at your desks,"
The headmaster said.
"I have something to tell you,
The King is dead."
We looked at the ceiling.
He looked at the floor.
He then raised his head
And said something more.
"Please, all go home now
And before you return,
Polish your shoes
For the King we will mourn.