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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #1339542
To my Mother
They tell me,
my Mother is sick.
Obviously.
She just threw up
all over me.
And in the backseat
of that pretty cream cloud,
shes flying.
Theres no need,
to spread her disease.
Its a pity,
you cant make the blind see.
© Copyright 2007 E.K.Rose (voice at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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