POEM: Exiled Posted on October 3, 2019 by B Gourley I sit atop a tiny isle. These rags I wear were never in style. Impiety ‘s not my only sin. I took no tonic with my gin. I never called, hated the phone. A table for two, yet dined alone, and now I do once more. Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.PrintWhatsAppMoreShare on TumblrTweetRedditEmailLike Loading... Related
powerful words and images.
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Beautiful and intense.
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Thank you
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