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If we're boring, Does it mean that this looking-glass in which
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Rows of sewing machines
Stand silent sentinels -
She loves to eat toasted pecans,
And every time I walk -
The frail child struggles against the unwieldy basket,
Her feet stumbling upon the rooted path, -
I saw a pair of pricey gloves,
I thought that they were really gorgeous, -
The trees are crying as they are cut down,
Nobody notices, or protests -
When I lay silent in my stark room,
Thinking, wishing I could melt into my mattress and live there -
Fear is hanging above my head, a giant spider, gnashing fangs
Dripping oily green envy upon my raw and open heart -
The solitary locust tree,
Lacking in rounded green leaves with which to adorn her thorny crown, -
Stealing conquered children,
To fight in wars not theirs
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