May 7, 2011
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That was
Probably a jest rather than a reproach
Stinking words stroke my charm
I watched a fear approach
Which squawked without any alarm
In the lap of sun-swept beams
Those words bared their pride
They buried my realistic dreams
Blowing the beads of hope abide
Smelling the ash of burned way
I walked around in a daze
It was a "taunt" that made me lay
Over the feet of some one's gaze

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