August 26, 2009
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A green meadow under a rising sun.
I try to speak, but run.
A god he must be.
Perhaps he will choose me.

A mud pile under a black mane.
Grotesque but not vain.
I wonder, is she sane?

Chocolate pools under a night sky.
I try to speak, but come up shy.
A goddess she must be.
Perhaps she will choose me.

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