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Poetry
Top voted Poetry
#223931voted by our readers
By Anonymous
Walking to the red painted barn, I inhale the crisp morning air. The birds sing, This is my calm. I saddle up my stallion, My hands smell of leather. Trotting with the cool...
Walking to the red painted barn, I inhale the crisp morning air. The birds sing, This is my calm. I saddle up my stallion, My hands smell of leather. Trotting with the cool...