Some Palindrome Poem
Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era?
Do, O God, no evil deed! Live on! Do good!
Drawn, I sit; serene rest is inward.
I’m a fool; aloof am I.
Mad as Adam.
Now I draw an award. I won!
O, stone, be not so.
Too hot to hoot.
Are we not drawn onward to new era?
Name not one man.
In words, alas, drown I.