Pretty Little Things Poem by mark king
Pretty Little Things
I walked past the hearse
Knowing it wasn’t for me
With the warm July breeze
I write my pretty poems
With dirty little words
Thinking about the smile
She always leaves me
And the special something
In her dark eyes
It’s her calling card
That renders me a smile
And looking for my need
But who I’m I to tell you
It’s in your eyes
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5/5/2024 1:15:24 AM # 1.0.0.1119
