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A SONNET, LESS ONE.

I could write you a sonnet
But you would not see
The beauty hidden
In fourteen lines
Of delicately laid words
And breathtaking expressions
On a perfumed paper
That was brave enough
To carry my bleeding heart
In its feather-like hands
And so, for this very reason,
I will lay down my pen after carving
The thirteenth line.
-By Ruth Odikaesieme. ©

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