Forlorn

Forlorn, Thrown upon the Floor.
Cold and Desolate just as a corpse.
Maimed and Pierced by the thorn.
Soggy and Wet from the Storm.
How could we just let it die?
It must not have been worth a try?
How could we just leave it this way?
This all feels like a rainy day...

by Derek Germain

Other poems of GERMAIN (74)

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