i'm growing weary of sitting in this room
loneliness, a sad flower, has begun to bloom
next week i'm making plans to step out for a while
see some old friends, always good for a smile
fire's been ignited, i feel its slow burn
my pen not enough to supply what i yearn
i need some sharp wit, some healthy rapport
there's a garden's delight, just outside my door
a project for two, or three, maybe four
writing poetry is a solitary business for sure.
--bruised orange
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