Rumor writesA Poem by Maxwell Ryder
Rumor writes with its own copyright
Up and down, left and right, It scrolls men and women's souls, Invading minds, Shrouding them in night, It furrows out good like a blind mole, Leaving its burrows and potholes. We, gardeners, are apoplectic by morning light, as we've lost what We've sown; Poison is often our angry riposte. In this soil, now nothing grows. © 2017 Maxwell RyderReviews
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1 Review Added on May 19, 2017 Last Updated on May 19, 2017 Author
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