Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2019
My daughter wouldn’t hurt a spider
That had nested
Between her bicycle handles
For two weeks
She waited
Until it left of its own accord
If you tear down the web I said
It will simply know
This isn’t a place to call home
And you’d get to go biking
She said that’s how others
Become refugees isn’t it?
Written by
Maha
245
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems