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Aug 2014
I am a wooden floor
An ant under the table
Black speck
I am a second choice
Place holder
A paint swatch match
Just a little too blue.
I have become a tiger
Fierce teeth bared
Stripes up and down
And I love you
Even as you tell me
I am a wooden floor.
Why can't I write good poetry?
Ann Beaver
Written by
Ann Beaver
1.4k
   W L Winter and paper boats
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