Little Wren
P Patti Masterman
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She's far colder now
Than all the men she prayed
Would feast on life, with her
Before her poor bones fade.
They thought her verse too trite,
With syntax, wildly wrought-
But her words owned the earth;
Eternity- have bought.
Though moss had reached her lips,
Interred in tomb, alone-
Uncovered now, her words
Bring wayward souls back home.
Bu şiiri puanla
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