Cliche
A song from the past is given voice again,And here, ironically, is the very same pen,
That was used to sign your affections away,
In a month not so dissimilar from May,
And so you wonder why you knock on that door,
And so you wonder why you scratch an old sore,
For the lesson was learned in the early dawn,
That your feet are not welcome past the front lawn.
Poetry by }
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Written on 2006-05-09 at 07:54
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