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Oct 2014
I'm growing old.
God don't plant in straight rows,
And weeds won't hear my temperate pleas.
But harvest comes, wailing like a freight train.
I thrive in the ghost town I built.
Regret crowds the crosswalks.
I wait for you.
Hurry.
9/26/2014
Written by
Olivia Frederick  Tennessee
(Tennessee)   
1.5k
   MalaiDaisies and Rupal
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