Adrift again in fields of forgotten names
Memories of a gift lost inside the lines and places
Festive flames burn high light up the circus towns
Pink and purple painted red roses on eyes and faces
Simple games to try night spills out unformed clowns
They sift through sand that yields lots of tiny grains

Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2021-11-24 at 07:30

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