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Little RunawayShe walks the streets on a cold, windy night she is by herself, she had runaway from home. Her parents always fought she couldn't handle the sorrow anymore, she decided to get out. The little runaway is barely in her teens, she only has the clothes on her back. She searches through dumpsters to find something to eat, tears roll down her cheeks when she thinks of her parents arguing. She was an only child and always thought her parents were happy, she was wrong. She couldn't go back to what she had left behind.... Copyright Cynthia Jones Apr.17/2004 Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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