Rose Of Sharon

Poor little girl,
Decided to give her life a whirl.
Thirty-one,
Still undone,
Can't see why no one thinks she's fun.
Lost in coloring books,
Her only choice in life,
Is the color of her strife.
To ad interest,
Brain surgery and epileptic fits,
"Feel my scar".
Before she has a fit!
This is not much to bring to a conversation,
So, Rose of Sharon,
Gets lost in translation.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2024

Poem

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