A TOWN CALLED LEGACY
I was dumped in a place.
Forced there.
Where the wind pricks tears from my eyes.
Bloodshot eyes.
The cobblestones and soil, cracked.
The sky is grey.
The clouds are grey.
But the colour grey gets a bad reputation sometimes.
And the cold send shivers down my spine.
However, the nature there is mismatched.
Fields and fields of fruit bearing trees.
With luscious green leaves.
Iris dotted turf.
The promise of possibility scents the air.
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