Saturday, January 22, 2011


The streets were bare,
With smoke in the air.
This is what I called Brooklyn.

Eyes closed,
And head down
There was no one to be found.

My dad sighed,
and my mom cried.
I didn't know what to do.

So I looked on out the window
But all I could see

Bare streets and smokey air.
I didn't know if I should care.

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