Her nights are blue, but not just any blue;
it is the darkest of all hues.
By her bedside she keeps her booze,
drowning her sorrows, awaking the muse.
Don’t judge so soon ’cause you would, too,
if you walked a mile in her shoes.
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3 Comments
platosgroove
Very nice.
Miss Marcia
Thank you!
Ronnie
Profound.