Bog Poem by Etienne Charilaou
Bog
Waking up in the prison-house,
more timid than any mouse.
I'm running low on scavenging ground -
the only place where I feel sound.
And my car is stuck in mud -
the story of a life that's dud.
Monday, March 13, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: car,house,life,running,waking
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8/7/2026 10:59:59 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
