Saturday, 30 April 2016


I was the novel she would read in the night,
Licked her fingers just to flip my pages right,
Laid me on her chest, when she went to sleep,
Turned, on her sides, and down, I would slip.

She read my last chapter, and ended my story,
Tattered my cover, tore pages, she wasn't sorry,
Set the mess on a whirlwind, Oh merciless glory,
I'll find new pages and words to rewrite my story!

Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha

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