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My Box

Blue grass
green sky
a tree that stretches ten miles high
will all go in my box.

Sunburn in the winter
snow when it's warm
a calm ocean in the middle of a storm
will all go in my box.


A squeaking cat
a hissing mouse
lights winds that blow the roof off a house
will all go in my box.

My box is a place
for objects like me
who refuse to fit in
who choose to be free.



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