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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2191005
The people of Green Door make a stand.
The people of
Green Door
Always wipe a
Mean floor.

And polish it
With peppermint.
Every day.
Never forget.

The people in
The city streets,
Never dwell on
Their defeats.

I don't know
A better way
To make it work
And then to play.

Nobody knew,
But every day
While widows whew
And children played

That there was something
In the mist.
In the midst.
'Twas clear, like this.

Disease abounded
That was true.
There was nothing
They could do.

"Whatever will be"
They will see.
With the difference
In currency
.

Every day,
On every stage,
In Green Door's rage,
gone off the page.

And though it's rough.
And though it's grand.
Through Greend Bay street,
the people stand.
© Copyright 2019 John Andrew Jenkins (johnjenkins at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2191005