Every home has a night,
When the Sun has arrived.
Tired bodies go to work,
The time is nine to five.
Abstruse is the pain of soul,
Enough are these exhausted bones.
Many are the borders,
In my own home.
Nothing is ‘ours’ here.
Some mine, some yours.
Flowers in the thorns,
Still soft and serene though!
blog: https://bittermarshmellos.com
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