Misfortune
The river runs blackPolluted by the greedy
It can't save itself
Misfortune
The river runs blackSecretAngel3 commented on Misfortune
06-25-2011
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
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