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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#430951voted by our readers
By AbigailGilgal GOLD
Cloquet, Minnesota
I stopped. My feet rested on the cool cement, and I listened. Every tree, every bush, was whispering. It started as a murmur, and grew. Soon it was as if every forest in th...
Cloquet, Minnesota
I stopped. My feet rested on the cool cement, and I listened. Every tree, every bush, was whispering. It started as a murmur, and grew. Soon it was as if every forest in th...