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Non-Stop Cycle
March 16, 2017
There they are on my bed.
Piles and piles they lay,
laced with lavender
I pick up one warm piece of cotton
and begin to form its uniform shape.
I work like a machine
as one leaves my fingertips
I Gain another one in my hand.
The mess of rags now
find themselves in
Tide-y, unwrinkled stacks
© Anna B., Marblehead, MA
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