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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Romance/Love >> ID #268193 |
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She sees the trouble in my eyes
And it disturbs her Like wind in high grass Or branches Tapping on glass Sombre, stoic motion Harshly moved She speaks in alto whispers And it's seldom I reply Early morning, late night routines Her face So distant My soul in chains My skill, transparent on paper She knows and endures For she loves
© Copyright 2001 Stephen McDonald (UN: sindor at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Stephen McDonald has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |