She ran through the sty,
Of a shiny pig's litter
In a dress as pale as the sky,
and corsette that didn't fit her.
The rain did not mean much
Nor the puddles it collected,
Or the dirt her skin would touch
Or the mine man it affected. .
Take a trip inside my mind as I share timely insights, musings, and perspectives on life, love, and everything in between.
19 April 2012
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