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Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Thus, Stratified...

Composed by: Azm

Thy father,
a potter,
lived in the valley green;
Made vases,
carved traces,
held 'em tight together as seen.

Beauty captured,
(In)clay clustered,
Stood proud and tall;
Jealous neighbor,
broke through (the)door,
planned to make it fall.

He took,
off the hook,
with a miser grin on his face;
Smashed it,
into tiny bit(s),
yet took over the case.

Father look!
we shook,
realized he lay there dead;
sleeping on his death bed.

Fragile and sad,
surrounded by the bad,
mourning at such grief;
Now we've learnt,
it can't be brought,
together again to stand there stiff.
© Copyright 2011 Azm

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I am just a mother with a child looking onto me for every little thing I am just a wife expected to look after every nooks and nac...