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Forgetful

At the edge of the world,
On the corner of forever
She sat with her hair in a knot.
She was a painter, and a poet,
And her smile was as stunning as the stars.
Her feet dipped in the ice,
That had carved a path down the mountain
For the sole purpose of greeting her here,
Were a healthy shade of pink,
To match the mid-October sunset.
She had a little house,
With a garden in the back
That grew things with strange names
Like Azaleas
And Foxgloves
And Peonys
And every morning she drank her coffee black
Because the muddy taste made her feel closer to home
Which was here,
At the edge of the world,
On the corner of forever.



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