ant5

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we talk

to different cats

at the same time

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the dogs

won’t go

under the willow

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crisp morning air

the river

keeps to itself

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the noisy frog

follows us

to the barn

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today

everyone has

their own pen

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the games are over

a chill wind washes

against the hills

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my thought

finds you from

the opposite direction

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the rest of the day

at the end of

a blue pen

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summer’s last flies

on the back

of my head

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