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sandra wyllie
Poems
Nov 2022
He's the Gravy
He's the sauce.
Covers all his lumps in gloss.
He's the tinsel gold and red,
patching all the holes with thread.
He's the floral wrapping
tied with a satin bow.
But his packaging
is all for show.
He's the shiny skating rink.
But as you dance it cracks.
You sink!
Written by
sandra wyllie
56/F
(56/F)
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