deepundergroundpoetry.com
Death of a Rodent
Poor little thing.
Curled up in a corner,
of an old metal box,
no way to get out,
oh, what a shame.
Bones and dead bugs,
are all that remain,
of an innocent little creature,
yet no one's to blame.
Captured in an image,
its death has been saved,
curled up in a corner,
forever there to remain.
Oh, poor little thing.
Curled up in a corner,
of an old metal box,
no way to get out,
oh, what a shame.
Bones and dead bugs,
are all that remain,
of an innocent little creature,
yet no one's to blame.
Captured in an image,
its death has been saved,
curled up in a corner,
forever there to remain.
Oh, poor little thing.
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