Who But Us

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By Dianne Moritz

Who but us
Could feel such lust
So wild and delirious

Who but us
Would cuss and fuss
And soon display subtle mistrust

Who but us
Lets passion rust
Corrode and crumble into dust

Who but us
No one but us
Our love has died and fate’s unjust

            
“Sometimes I write just for fun, but still dream of collecting my drabble in a book.” – the poet

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