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Jul 2016
A master's whistle commands,
On a hunt, to the hounds,

To chase and not fail,
The deer's blood scented trail

Scraped by a swift arrow,
Flying through the nest of a true sparrow

Tearing apart,
The hatchling, from it's young spirit

The broken soul of its mother,
And bloodstain, on her quill feather
something political may be
kayanja ronald edwin
Written by
kayanja ronald edwin  25/M
(25/M)   
562
 
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