Roasted On The Fire
In the middle of the road,
The birds of the air flew above me with a signal;
But you wre nowhere to be found.
Blemish,
Unleavened,
Must only be roasted on the fire!
But you wre nowhere to be found.
Villainy,
Disfigured,
Humiliated,
Greatly ashamed!
But you were nowhere to be found,
And the day ended with a sad note.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Added by Poetry Lover
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