Poetry

Dusty Old Bench

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    Walking down the boulevard,
    Seeing and admiring nature,
    The Whispering Trees and Dancing Flowers,
    I came by a spot and saw,
    A dusty old bench.
    The bench as I saw,
    Was as ancient as the world could tell.

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The World Of Tomorrow

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This poem happens to be that of a former classmate of mine. Personally, I think she’s good, that’s why I featured one of her ‘minor’ works here. Enjoy.
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The Shooting Star

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Tears have flown,
Winds have blown.
Even though time, I do not own,
You remain my forever known. Read the rest of this entry »