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Apr 2019
By Dianne Moritz

I could write the saddest poem.
War, terror, famine, bone-chilling
Cold seeping in through the cracks.

I see the saddest poem: words spilling
From your mouth, smooth as lies,
Those empty promises never kept.

Yes, I could write the saddest poem,
But for this - one lone bloom
Brightens the barren winter bush.
This poem was published in The Drabble last Sunday, April 7, 2019
dianne moritz
Written by
dianne moritz
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