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I keep looking at these trees
From this window, I can see
Them inside the cemetery
Each evening and now
They stand between me and the sky
I imagine weeping willows in the south
Bright blue skies clothe inner city lies.
There’s a quitter entangled in, “how many times I have to try.”
Curious to know your real motives,
Hands over my eyes in disbelief when I seen the real molders.
By AF Young child of the ghetto, Through your eyes I can see the pain, Memories of the past roaming through your brain, Friends, family, and the people we used…
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