Updated: Sun, 24 Dec 2017 11:42 pm
I sometimes make some barely decent attempts at poetry
Left of the interjection ahead of the village pond, the road rose high and took a steep slump. A further five minutes from thence, you’d be lost amidst a rich green meadow where, on a day when it generously poured, my tears had camouflaged in the rain as she left the village with her new husband. Bittersweet memories did haunt for days, and weeks and months since then.
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