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    Spring is a beautiful womanThat bids me byeHer leaving breathThe whisper of evaporating dewHair brushing my faceThe long grassOf the bed of my garden’s clearingUnabashed lush, I, smileLooking round

    • Poetry
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    1 min read


'Tis the season to shovel enormous amounts of watermelon into your mouth while hunched over the cutting board like a dehydrated vampire that hasn't fed on blood in four hundred years and the only viable substitute is this questionable Christmas-colored fruit.
— Ari11