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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#433301voted by our readers
By Anonymous
Wind whips leaves from their resting places. This bus, it moves too fast To savor winter’s tears of joy. But when it slows, You can see them dancing. Twirling with each other...
Wind whips leaves from their resting places. This bus, it moves too fast To savor winter’s tears of joy. But when it slows, You can see them dancing. Twirling with each other...