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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#257111voted by our readers
By Anonymous
My feeble hands pick up the bow, Mechanically, the bow hits the strings of my giant whopping instrument I hide behind, I close my weary eyes and suddenly a crescendo, I am on...
My feeble hands pick up the bow, Mechanically, the bow hits the strings of my giant whopping instrument I hide behind, I close my weary eyes and suddenly a crescendo, I am on...