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Drizzel
February 26, 2010
Drizzle drip down my window.
The streams rush down not knowing where to go.
The puddles grow and don’t stop.
Rolling down my cheek is nothing more than a tear drop.
Every raindrop has its own special place.
It has such beauty, and grace.
But where do I belong?
Where’s my love song?
A crowd to call mine.
I’m always on the wrong side of the base line.
© Molly L., Bethesda, MD
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