My Life In Word

RESTLESS

My restless soul grows weary
Of searching every night
For the man who stole my heart
And then fled and took flight
I have searched high and low
I have even asked the crow
If he has caught sight of
A man with a stolen heart
He said he had but refused to impart
The whereabouts of that brutish beast
Lest he becomes tomorrow's feast

Simona A. Brinson

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