April 2, 2009
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Boot-shaped section of dirt,
Why are you here?
Everywhere else
The browned grass is near.

You are empty,
Cracked and dry,
Yet no one takes the time
To wonder why.

Your leg is covered with rocks,
And it's a sad shame.
I'm sorry that as dirt
You suffer so much pain.

In your frustration
You dig at the thin grass.
Will it ever grow here?
If so, much time must pass.

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