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Skyscraper
I am a skyscraper in mid December.
The edges of my roof mingle with the bright blue sky.
Winter’s freezing breath breaks on my sides.
And you, stand small, gazing at my size.
Your rocks may shatter my glass,
but your tongue shows no effect.
And from a hundred and fifteen floors,
you look like nothing but a speck.
So try and break me down,
try and make me small.
But tomorrow you will walk passed,
and I will still be one hundred and fifteen stories tall.

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