I Feel No Need

To mark with days
The power of words
Or the things I say
But if a pretentious copy cat
Can spew more words
There can be a cant
Here, of miseries untold
Sorrows shining, memory
Cold. Child, you are no match
For trees, or broken hearts,
Or well turned leaves
Of books enshrined in memory.
We shared the sand.
He bled for me.



About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

this side, that side

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