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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 10-June 19:50:03 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 136418
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => People
[time] => 2007-08-02 08:02:20
[hometext] => Please i need comments! bowmercj@aol.com
[bodytext] => The white hot snow covers our land It never melts. They came for us We wept. We march along the last road And forgot to pay our ferry man. For the journey into darkness the Hot ice melts for our people and our place. The gluttoned dead in cold dark halls of Stone, better made than the houses of the living. The women so fair but so cold, like the morning Of the spring still clung to the winters chill. We sink Into the foundations of a great house which we built But where never there. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 183 [topic] => 39 [informant] => Siegfried [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Grief )
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