Poems

Poetry at it's finest. Two of us three writers aren't poets

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12. poem 12

I gave you my heart

You promised not to tear it apart

When I needed you the most

You were right there beside me

While everyone else was always behind me

Now you stand before me

Standing in a white dress

You slip the ring on my finger

Then you whisper "I do"

I can't wait to start my life with you

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