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brooke
Poems
2d
small, very small.
I only just realized
what joy can be—
It is a small thing,
I think,
In the back office
at the bank,
If you leave the chair canted
towards the south window,
the sun will warm the small
blue seat around 11:45
It has always been
such an inconsequential thing to me
always out of reach—
But it’s there,
A quarter before noon
every day.
Written by
brooke
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