Little Town Poem by Silent Poet
Little Town
The damp town of ilson curdles in your ears, the outsiders see savages in my home out here, the blood freshly stained, outside the local davy lamp, blood painted walls decorated for the friendly local tramp. The rain flows to trenches overflown, trenches and stenches, not the germans fault this time, this sleepy english town that never sleeps, this little towm.
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4/25/2024 6:02:29 PM # 1.0.0.1119
