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The Miss by ilovethem5, literature
Literature
The Miss
I've been under the sun,
On a bench next to a miss,
Who had wrinkles as deep as the ocean's deep trenches.
She sang to herself,
the songs I've never heard,
In a language so foreign-
With a tongue like a carrier of messages,
A homing pigeon,
With wings only surpassed by doves.
A voice that could only be split in two,
if it were the Red Sea.
So she could drown the noise,
Of the sun's undying praises
