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My Mother the Whirlwind

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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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Maggie2014This teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
Sept. 21, 2011 at 4:57 pm:

Screaming*

 

 
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