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Our Son I remember the day,
it was a Monday,
that our son never
came to be.
We were wrapped up
tight in the throws
of our own passion.
Funny is what I would
say, while he was
climbing my mounds,
oops! said he, spilling
what would have been
our son all over me.
I swear I'll never forget
that Monday or was it possible
a Sunday that my man was unable
to hold back and wait for me!
G. Williams
Please Critique This Poem |
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