Well.I disagree.He wrote that because it rhymes
The hailstones pounded the window
as violently,as if they had minds
bent on killing;soldiers in rows and ranks rushing onwards;
as each fell another and another took its place.
Cold and mathematical they had a simple precise force and geometry.
Into this warlike scene,floated two white butterflies
Crossing and recrossing the spaces between the hail
they followed a random path;now together.now apart
Their unplanned,loving dance leads to mating, procreation and a future
while the hailstones can only die.
Seems sometimes fragile freedom is more productive
than the fierce mechanical modern world can imagine.
I see the butterflies now like startled flowers
hunting for the sun
Take your hands off my flea.
Bake your sands in the sea.
Once written twice the guy.
Too many books boil the brain
Lovers make good bedcovers.
One odd fellow does not a lover make.
Keep writing on till the send button goes.
Waiter,there’s a tear in my soup.
He tore into the soup with all his might.
I shall love you till I have resigned.
We write sonnets on the wall.
We have no wailing malls here yet but people are getting more careful/
The dentist took out my beef….and it was roasted too!
What is lurking in the bread?
How my heart sings 