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A poem of a stressed child inside of a womb of what they must be thinking. |
There wasn't much room to move about, so I just sat there and began to pout. Inside the womb, there was nothing but gloom. Things weren't the same when the funnels came. It wasn't long before I resisted; the strong winds were blowing. I persisted without a doubt, to learn what this disaster was all about. I fought for power when things went sour. Then, I decided to get some flour. Without making a sound, I knew I could lose a pound. With you around, I would feel free as a leaf, gently falling to the ground. I would gladly purchase a diamond ring, if I could borrow any old thing. I would play a nice new fiddle, if I could solve this old riddle. If I could feel the way you feel, I would put together a nice good meal. Then, I would gladly make you heal. I would know the reasons why, if I could look you in the eye, I know that I would surely try, to have you look into the sky. To escape from doom, with all its gloom, would be ideal. When it becomes real, I would be getting a lift, when I felt like going adrift. Written by Anna Marie Carlson Friday, January 31, 2020 Revised on Saturday, February 8, 2020 |