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Aug 2014
I could begin climbing a tree
To attach a swing for you
And me
I'd build it to only seat two
But I am stuck inside
A brown paper bag
Chopped up
Into pieces I can't describe.
I reach out to catch him
But miss by an inch,
A mile,
A day,
A year,
So
I wait right here.
Ann Beaver
Written by
Ann Beaver
377
   Eleanor Rigby
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