THE WHIPPERWILL

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THE WHIPPERWILL

The wind was calm ,the night was still
The only sound was a whipperwill

She was sitting there for a while
Her heart broken and in a pile.

He left her, nevr said goodbye,never said i love you
Never told her why.

Now she sits there, so sad and still,
The only sound was the whipperwill.

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

gothicangel307’s Poems (3)

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Lift Him Up 1
Our Soldiers 0
THE WHIPPERWILL 0