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this man tries hard
with word to weave
his loves clear worn
plain ‘pon his sleeve
not meant as gripes
midst rationed fears
but more shall quell
those metered tears
his pen thus bleeds
for loves quite lost
one heart born bare
for scheming’s cost
still oft’ he dreams
now chances slim
someone will write
sweet poems …
for him.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2024
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