9 lines
358 B
Markdown
9 lines
358 B
Markdown
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the new ceiling fan uncovers old stains
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and old pains we mop and mop and mop away.
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old hurts are blurred in my mind like daffodils,
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waiting for their turn to speak at the table.
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my cargo short days have turned into fable,
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i don’t remember but i still get the chills.
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on the shelf i keep all the things which stay,
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and on that thought whirr all the trains.
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