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Bleeding fingertips,
from clawing at the past. 
She wanted nothing more,
than to be able to move forward.
Bruised heart, lost life,
haunting echoes from being his wife.
She knew her time would come,
when she would find her someone.
But for now, she was bathed in pain,
grieving for the love, she’d lost, in vain.

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Wendy Pratt

Poet, Author, Editor, Facilitator

Inking Prose & Poetry

The Art of Prose and Poetry

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Writing, Poetry, Short Stories, Reviews, Art Contests

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Where learning means more | Far a bheil ionnsachadh a’ ciallachadh barrachd

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