Words are little children,
they run around you,
bugging you to let them play.
Words are like earthworms in a rainy day,
struggling to squirm out.
Letting out,
a virtue or a mean of relief?
Meaningful of the expressions,
letting out contains nothing but words.
Relief it may be,
time will come a day when you regret it.
A spur moment of foolishness,
of implusiveness,
all may be lost.
Good it felt,
children freed to play,
earthworms believing in the sun,
words emptying out of my mouth.
It never felt so good…
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