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Written by: lola barron

A bush in the middle of a field once green,
A top like a powdered wig,
Beneath lay bones chilled hard as rock,
And hands that would snap like a twig,
It was a life not fully formed,
No bigger than a hand,
What reason caused it to be there,
Is hard to understand,
From one so young that could not say,
From one too old to care,
How long it's lain nobody knows,
Let someone say a prayer.