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Literature Text
paper cups scratch her rosy lips
in the quiet hour before the afternoon rush
folks with clocks for heads, or beds will tarry her away
its inevitable; unavoidable
and wearisome
but for now, I see her
I see her awake for a single second
and its enough
in the quiet hour before the afternoon rush
folks with clocks for heads, or beds will tarry her away
its inevitable; unavoidable
and wearisome
but for now, I see her
I see her awake for a single second
and its enough
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