This poem was written on Friday, January 13, 1995. Do you believe in supernatural occurances?
She walks down the street
With her head hung low
Around her a strong wind blows
She doesn’t seem to care
Look at her hair
Look at her clothes
They seem different from the rest of those
She is almost clear
But I’m sure she is there
People just brush past her
Without a look back
Everything around her looks black
With a confused look in her eyes
She looks around, disappears
The strong wind dies
Was it just my imagination
Running away again?
I must now bring this poem to an end.
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