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All Dead
In the Springtime of my growing
The Summer of my knowing
Sown were the seeds for all my hopes and dreams
Through the rain and muddy water
There came up fragile flowers
To share with all my lovers
Where I expected trees
Being young, naive, and caring
I left my gate for sharing
Now trampled are my flowers
Trampled by my lovers
And the feet of many others
...Saturday 25th November 2017 2:08 pm
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