by Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
pumpkin spiced latte
Why may not I be loved?
Why must always it be this way?
O’ why does the wind blow?
Why do the leaves decay?
Why must I be punished for
My transgressions against love?
Be reminded of my trespasses,
Tears fall with the cry of the dove.
O’ love does not love me,
Else, it would not treat me this way,
Yet the wind still does blow,
And the leaves do still decay.
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