Crying, alone, and forgotten, 

Abandoned by all the world,

A little voice inside me screamed,

But I ignored the call,


Another minute or year went by,

I find it hard to tell,

I knew that I had to escape,

I could not pay their laughter's toll,


The little voice again, spoke up,

But this time spoke in rhyme,

I listened and I wrote it down,

And thought it sounded fine,


Now, when time flows sweet and softly,

or engulfs me in a stream,

Tears to me seem only folly,

I, instead, write words that sing,




This poem is about: 


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