Brenda Cullerton: The Craigslist Murders: A Novel
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In May my heart was breaking-
Oh, wide the wound, and deep!
And bitter it beat at waking,
And sore it split in sleep.
And when it came November,
I sought my heart, and sighed,
"Poor thing, do you remember?"
"What heart was that?" it cried.
October 14, 2009 in Poetry | Permalink
Oh, I like this :o)
October 15, 2009 at 12:06 AM
November is my birthday.
I used to remember November.
But that was then, and this is now.
October 15, 2009 at 12:56 AM
I think I might know why, Notes. :)
Thunder, I was in German Village Tues night. I'm not sure if I saw you. lol
blue girl |
October 15, 2009 at 08:42 AM
Gotta love the Dorothy.
October 15, 2009 at 11:53 AM
The trees and I are shaken by the same wind but whereas
The trees will lose their withered leaves,
I just can't seem to let them loose.
And they can't refresh me those hot winds of the south.
Oh I feel like an alien, a stranger in an alien place.
zombie rotten mcdonald |
October 15, 2009 at 12:47 PM
That's beautiful, ZRM.
blue girl |
October 15, 2009 at 03:09 PM
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