sam-g-luskWhisper

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To my Daughter at Twenty-oneA vase can be beautiful, / And can be filled with the ephemeral or the immortal. / If I think of you as a vase;

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Force MajeureLife came, / It’s own purpose a mystery, / But I saw green leaves

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the gods must laughWhat trope is this, / That the old, wizened, simply submit, / Shedding skin and shutting out the sight

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Untitledbirthdays, / like hooligan dogs, / racing back and forth

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