nothing fits like your Sunday best
smooth as your smile, perfectly pressed
hiding lies in the white folds of your dress
twirl and spin, you'd die to impress
Author notes
Written October 8th, 2005
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I wish I could fit rhyme into poems as smoothly as you've done here; when i try it sounds forced. The first two lines work especially well, which i'd attribute to the alliteration of "perfectly pressed". The rythmn of the third line could be altered slightly to fit in with the piece more, but other than that, this is an excellent write.
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