By Joel Ash
Copyright 2000 by Joel D. Ash
All Rights Reserved
High taxes are taxing my wealth,
Climaxing in drainage by stealth;
Plans riddled with waste,
Money piddled in haste,
Axing waxing of financial health.
Spending out of control and unwise,
Programs tending to grow to large size;
Nonsense never ending,
High cost keeps ascending,
Tax dollars and cents on the rise.
Woodpeckers at work on my dough,
Their pecking destroys status quo;
The birds joined by moles,
I am riddles with holes,
All my walls like the old Alamo.
I dream of the calm of days past,
Aghast at the harm some forecast;
Preserving this place,
Way of life I embrace,
Tranquil Eastman I yearn to see last.
Their pecking destroys status quo;
The birds joined by moles,
I am riddles with holes,
All my walls like the old Alamo.
I dream of the calm of days past,
Aghast at the harm some forecast;
Preserving this place,
Way of life I embrace,
Tranquil Eastman I yearn to see last.
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