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Morning MAG
The sunshines on a great green dewy expanse
That I have no time for.
Walking, mybreath comes out in a white
Cold-warm paradoxical breath.
Birds chattermeaninglessly from the trees
Surrounding almost the dark pavement.
I cursethe sky for being so perfect because I know
I will grow up and help ruinit.
And when I am old I will wish for nothing more than
A short, crispwalk to the bus stop.
© Anonymous
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