Poem -
12:24 PM
I see too many misfortunes. Broken people , cracked hearts . Grip so tight , what is free ?
As you approach my stoop , you enter a cess pool , why you look at me diseased ?
I never known of gold to root itself and shade the people . To pick my fortune in the garden , I never knew .
Our lives are not equally rehearsed , we all return to dust , pull me away lonely hearse .
