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By Leroy R. Allen
'Twas the midnight hour,
Chimes from the clock tower.
She stood under the street light,
sorta tight but was dressed right.
'Twas on the corner of no place,
Just a girl with a painted face.
She smiled with a tear in her eye,
A limousine slowly drive on by.
'Twas her sixteenth birthday,
First time out, what could she say?
She was a runaway from abuse
Now caught up in the game of misuse.
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