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This poem

This poem could have healed,
Could have done anything,
If it had been revealed,

This poem is lost,
Between two pages of an unknown book,
Maybe indefinetly tossed,

This poem is constricted, binded by society,
Yet freely sways like the tree it once was,
And its open minded artist bursting with variety,

This poem is me.

By Janetta's Grandson Mac


Copyright © | Year Posted 2007




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