I hold the brass handle feeling quite like a vandal.
Here it comes again...
shivering, shaking, quivering
scared.
Feels like sea on the hard wooden ground and my legs seem to agree.
I hear my name called from the elderly woman "Marie."
More later...This time i mean it...had to go eat.
1 comment:
good poem as always keep writing and check out my blog
www.bookgirl13.blogspot.com there's a bunch of new updates.
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