Grief

A Poem by Anna

Ah, grief.

That irritable thing.

Stomping around, angry at singing birds.

He's just old, tired, sick of the noise.

He's just a dog with no master.

Unruly. Full of nothing.

Starved.

He's waiting to die.

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Sometimes, unfortunately, the old bugger tends to hang around.

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2 Reviews
Added on January 16, 2022
Last Updated on January 16, 2022

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