The passing hour.


The sleepless night in thoughts
And teary eyes so deep
Lips stammering with words unheard
Perhaps a prayer
Perhaps the pain
Curled up and folded in her arms
As she laid on the ground
Flash back of her troubles
Cut her through
That even stitches wouldn’t sew
But what could she do
Except living through
Through the rough road of time
Which would someday be left behind
And she wished to think of it
As a day which found its own way.


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