Wednesday, April 6, 2022

Poetry 1

An empty building
It's the middle of the day
Most of it's occupants are at work today
A barking dog
A scurrying cat
A rotten window
A sill that's turned to dust
Things made of logs
Things made of iron
Both eventually rust
Rust or rot is the same
As dust they both became
By Maura Alwyen at

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