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softstorms — Random poetry #3
Published: 2017-09-05 23:44:00 +0000 UTC; Views: 101; Favourites: 2; Downloads: 0
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She strums on her drums
By night and day
But help never comes
Her clothes, old and fray
She lays there-
Every night, every day
Her limbs ached and splay
Her hands as wet as clay-
From sweating and crying
She wishes for her mother
Who told her to stay
She hopes she will return one day
In the night or the day
