The fat man thought:
In the evening I gladly walk in rubbers,
But also when the streets are clean and spotless.
I am never entirely sober in rubbers.
I hold the cigarette in my hand.
My soul skips in little rhythms.
And all one hundred pounds of my body skips.
Rubbers
Alfred Lichtenstein
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Poem topics: never, walk, evening, soul, clean, hold, body, thought, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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