Poetmother In Rags At The Doors Of Ikea
My daughter lives in there.
There's no way I could stay:
Look at what I'm wearing,
Even though I gave my daughter.
You see all my sin.
No way could I fit in.
I have given daughter,
So stand aside!
I will not be denied
A little look inside
What I've given daughter.
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Comments about this poem (Poetmother In Rags At The Doors Of Ikea by douglas scotney )
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