My Mother the Whirlwind

June 11, 2011
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Brushing past my neck
The Wind whispers its sweet secrets to me
It whistles by
Creaming its deepest regrets at me
It stands still
Deserting me
And it floats by
Caressing and comforting me
But what she never does is love me

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Maggie2014 said...
Sept. 21, 2011 at 4:57 pm



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