holding stead
eating my words time
and time
again
visions of perfection
marred roads and paths
ignored and spurned
for the easy peasy
sunny days that led
a soft spoken girl astray
it may be bright times
hopeful and pink
with budding blooms
smoke trailing through
sunbeam trees
the base, the ground
cigarettes don't belong
in the Springtime.
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1 comment:
you are a great poet ---Jon S.
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