Etched Underneeth
J
James McLain
0
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What and why of always never me?
Do you even try too telephone?
Was it ruined leaving marks?
I scratched it on the walls of your dim cell?
The silent God of nature Oh.
I am this smell so pure.
Cotton white the yellow rising sun.
It comes upon a misty clearing.
Etched living underneeth,
a leaf of dying lingers more than silent night.
Bu şiiri puanla
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