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William Fredrick Bissette
Poems
Jun 2013
My sweet poppy
Your milk it seems now was warm and wet
whispering, wanting me to forget
how you threw me to the ground and held me there with
what was your frailty
I will not bend to your memory yet
so long I have the strength to blood let
my mind of every last ounce of
what was your cruelty
I've moved on I fear
sans shedding a tear for leaving behind
what was your memory
Written by
William Fredrick Bissette
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