He walks in rain

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He take walks in rain for hours in nights,
without umbrella and gets soaking wet,
yet his young blood keeps him warm
and vibrant. This is what I love to do,
he said to me. I said, your walks are
actually how to live poetry. But my
words lacked sense to him.

 

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This entry was posted in friendship, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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