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The Numbland

The end is near Virus is here One hundred and eighty thousand Dead, poor dear Pack your bags Your coats and shoes We're going to the land Of endless blues There is peace from being numb After you've lived there awhile The cold bad news leaves your fingers numb But after a while you seem to forget And everyone there stops giving a sweat -September 2020

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

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Date: 10/12/2020 7:10:00 AM
Very nicely penned Sally! Linda
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A. Ryeter
Date: 10/14/2020 2:15:00 PM
Thank you. I believe out of all my poems this is probably the one I am most proud of.