I sit in the car and inwardly groan
At just how much of my time has flow,
Sitting in traffic, with cars end to end,
All in a line, and all nicely penned
So nothing can move; such a waste of my time,
Especially combined with pollution and grime.
In the future, I think, if I'm not going far
I'll cycle or walk instead of taking the car.
Girlwriting
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