New Year - Poem by Hannah Ebert
A warm breeze, a cotton tail flees. The sun is high and leaves begin to dry. Spring is here, it's a new year.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye