Early Morning Woods and What They Carry
Early Morning Poetry Thoughts
Through the woods, I see more than before, as if the woods have become thinner, like a middle aged man's hair. As a child, these woods were always thicker, harder to see through, leaving the question of what was really in there. But now, I see the mushy swampland and the spewn trash all over it. It's sad how some things deteriorate. Is it because of man? I ponder.
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