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It is cold and dark in my garden, with lots of spaces to hide. You can curl up under the plants and, in them, you can confide. The plants do not mind it, in fact, it helps them grow. They like the misery and sadness often told in tales of woe. You can stay quiet, of course, the plants don't mind that either; They know to appreciate the value of a quiet seether. If happiness is what you're looking for, this may be hard to swallow. My plants only like those who are willing to sit and wallow. So, if your heart is bleak and black and has even started to harden, Travel no further, As plants are always growing in my garden.
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Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
My Garden
It is cold and dark in my garden, with lots of spaces to hide. You can curl up under the plants and, in them, you can confide. The plants do not mind it, in fact, it helps them grow. They like the misery and sadness often told in tales of woe. You can stay quiet, of course, the plants don't mind that either; They know to appreciate the value of a quiet seether. If happiness is what you're looking for, this may be hard to swallow. My plants only like those who are willing to sit and wallow. So, if your heart is bleak and black and has even started to harden, Travel no further, As plants are always growing in my garden.
This is the first poem that I have written and actually liked. Like most, it was written spontaneously in the middle of the night.
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Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
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