www.whyville.net Sep 7, 2014 Weekly Issue



1twilover
Guest Poet

I Breathe Life

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CREATIVE WRITING
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PANDEMIC
Sometimes red, never blue.
At nights I hear the owl coo.
I hold the marks of love
labeled right above
a shaky heart and arrow.
But my bottom can be narrow.

I breath life.
I steal kites.
I hold bugs.
I get hugs.

I am the symbol of clean;
pure, happy and green.
I hold the birds that sing,
I am so many beautiful things.
But at the end of the day all I will ever be
is the same old simple tree.

 

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