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Poems are not the fleshy, juicy, tasty fruits
Of the trees, fat and tall, grown only
In the backyards in the fertile land of your garden
That I have to buy those
In whatever shapes and sizes you sell
But they are the products
I produce too
In a large scale
In the factory situated at the back of my mind
In many colors,

Shapes and sizes
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Sunday, July 6, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: poems
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7/25/2021 4:42:57 PM # 1.0.0.663