Story Time

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I have a story to tell,
She is a blonde bombshell,
For she does not know it,
She's considered a southern belle.

If only she knew,
She is one of the very few,
To find what others seek,
But she just sits, like a statue.

Her life began, soon her life will end,
To church she attends,
To some she is perfect,
Even in the eyes of her boyfriend.

For she is in love,
Her heart opened like a hand-filled glove,
Fingers reaching outward,
Wanting to reach above.

She continues to reach and reach,
Her life is filled with goals as long as a beach,
She wants to live and be loved,
Her goal is to teach.

To teach what she has gained,
Even with a heart so tear and bloodstained,
He's there, he's here,
He's always been to her, chained.

Her smile is bright,
Her eyes shine like stars of midnight,
She is alive, for it seems,
Her hair reminds him of sun's first daylight.

Southern belle she may be,
Her attitude is so carefree,
Others do not know,
She's a big sweetie.

They lie in open, flowered pastures,
Each of them their own authors,
Writing and dreaming separatly,
Each of them thrown into their own personal horror.

Summer is almost up and gone,
He will be gone by dawn,
No matter how much she disapproves,
We all must move on.





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