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Dec 2012
As metaphors sweep the floors
All the dust mites scream and cry
For they know what's coming next
They know that they must die.
They wonder what their next purpose will be 
Perhaps help something grow?
The dust begins to rain on top of old rotting fruits,
Soon to be used as to nurture the soil,
Then to be found under my boots.
Marisa Wallace
Written by
Marisa Wallace
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