7
7's the key number here. Think about it. 7-Elevens. 7 doors. 7, man, that's the number. 7 chipmunks twirlin' on a branch, eatin' lots of sunflowers on my uncle's ranch. You know that old children's tale from the sea. It's like you're dreamin' about Gorgonzola cheese when it's clearly Brie time, baby.
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Written on January 01, 1996
Submitted by klaidoiking on January 03, 2023
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 17 sec read
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"7" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2025. Web. 5 Feb. 2025. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/147387/7>.
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