Mistaken identity
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Grace Mccoy, Grade 8
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Poetry
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2004
The frost bitten grass stands still and stiff.
On an oval smothered by a choking mist.
On this barren landscape a lone figure sat.
Longing for a coat, or at least a hat.
He is society's scum.
A worthless, lousy bum.
Though in his mind equations roam,
he's a mathematitian without a home.