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May 2016
As the pale sun sets, against an amber sky,
I sit here just watching, and wondering why,
whenever I sit here, I always find,
that no matter the evening, there's one ******* my mind,
and forever echoing throughout my head,
is her ever sweet voice, and the words that she's said.
But it matters not, that much I know,
though I wish things were different, it simply ain't so.
The Last Wordsmith
Written by
The Last Wordsmith  New Zealand
(New Zealand)   
588
 
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