Life 2
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In time, Life sucks the blood out of
Youth's tender, familiar flesh
And it darkens the sun fuelled realms
Of innocent childhood dreaming.
That's the tragedy of this world.
Whoever created it does
Not seem to possess compassion,
Or the intricate surgeon's art.
The dying moth with crumpled wings
Creeps towards a smear of light.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş