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She Sang
 
Lonely she sat, singing the blues,
perfectly clear she'd paid her dues.
Sometimes you know the poor girl cried,
singing of how her lover had died.

Her voice rang out, as clear as a bell
and oh, she wore her sadness well.
A beat-up old guitar she plied,
singing of how her lover had died.

There in the bar she sang for booze;
if you wanted more, you'd surely lose.
As wind in the gables, mournful, sighed,
singing of how her lover had died.

Nightly performance always the same,
never in lights to see her name;
deprived of plans for being a bride,
singing of how her lover had died.



Form: Kyrielle


Graphic:
artquotes.net

By cherryk

© 2018 cherryk (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: FOS - ANYform GOES (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: FOS - ANYform GOES (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: FOS - ANYform GOES (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: FOS - ANYform GOES (challenge has been closed)


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