Numbered days

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Numbered days

The day of the end is coming upon us
The signs of such all around
People rushing to see disaster
To be apart of the pain
Laughing at dispare
Not caring for the dead
Preachers making a mint,
The Mint going broke
Woe to the childern
What a world they will inherit.

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If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

katblu’s Poems (3)

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Numbered days 0
My cat 0
The child inside 0