Not me
Ive been tampered with...me, my soul, my heart
so lonely, so bitter
so not me, is me,
tampered me...
me, my soul, my heart
so bright, so happy
is me, so not me
not now, cause this is me,
tampered me
Not me
Ive been tampered with...A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
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