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A Swing | ||
| If I do not skip a line There'll be ample room to spare. I can write a bit more fine And my notions thus declare. Every poem is a gift That descends to fill the page. Each can give my heart a lift And my baser thoughts assuage. Poetry is like a swing, Rocking gently to and fro. It can move from fall to spring And such lovely flowers sow. | ||
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