Autores:
  • But the only rhyme he could summon for 'out' was 'sauerkraut,' which lacked poetic glory. He let it go. The right line would come in time. That was the thing about poetry. It crept up through the draws and coulees of the brain.

    Annie Proulx (2007). “That Old Ace in the Hole”, p.138, Simon and Schuster