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Morning This Morning

By Carol Bird | Category :: Poem

Mornings used to be so fine.
Happiness and life devine.
Brand new day, sun was out.
Just so eager to get about.
Things have changed, alas.
Mornings now are broken glass.
Worry, stress, and much ado.
Nothing fun, do I go through.
I wonder why I am alive.
Now this life I do not thrive.
Tired, sad, not sure why.
Just waiting for the day I die.

By Carol Bird | Jun 11, 2014 | Category > Poem >Sad | Comments | Views 2082


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