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Jun 2018
The feet burns sore
from the scorch
of the sand.

Feeble breezes played
with the corners
of my tattered garb.

The sun, adamant,
in punishing
familiar travellers
from distant lands.

Lost in the dunes,
always...
Like a ribbon caught
on a wire’s barb.
ryn
Written by
ryn  πŸ‡ΈπŸ‡¬
(πŸ‡ΈπŸ‡¬)   
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