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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2002754
The first poem I wrote upon realizing I truly wanted to be a poet, and a true story.
I stood one day working,
giving nothing my heed;

when along flew a moth,
in the direst of need.

Its wings were in tatters;
it struggled to soar.

It lit on the water
and fluttered no more.


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2002754-The-Moth