poetry critical

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He lived in Killee
loved the good life,
danced with an heiress
in the dead of the night.
The one street was his,
its bhoyos were grand,
Mary Madonna?
Stick a coin in her hand.
He drank from a fountain,
swam in cool streams,
walked under moonlight
to tap a rich seam.
He lived in Killee
as young man and old,
his coffin was carried
through the tales that he'd told,
of a faraway sea shore
that lapped round a bay,
there were tears in his eyes
as he faded away.

19 Sep 08

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This is very good in story and power and structure, but could use work on the language and some of the rhymes.
 — technomancer

Story power structure language rhymes, what the hell do i know?

Larry don't knpw Lark
 — unknown