dictionaryA Poem by Tenten
Tired, these hands are too heavy to hold a pen Sleepless, the bed’s to cold to return to Solace, alone beneath the sheets the ceiling becomes companion Missing, a warm form to keep away painful realization of alone Knowledge, there will be no heated arms enfolding winter dry skin Tired, things to do that keep dropping eyes open © 2008 TentenAuthor's Note
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Added on March 5, 2008 |

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