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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1230253
this is my frustation with my cleaning, it's short, not long at all.
Mud finally cakes my finger nails
with all my work its seems there has never been a set trail
no weed will die for me
no flower breathe for me
an ongoing cycle of ruin

© Copyright 2007 Lynn Merie (lynn8 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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