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About This Poem
FLUFFY STUFF
FLUFFY STUFF
My brain doesn’t dream; it sorts out the stuff
That’s cluttered its corners with meaningful fluff.
It files the memories we may need for tomorrow
To Forgive the pain; accepting the sorrow;
It plans the moves, so my spirit grows strong
For life’s unexpected things that go wrong.
And when all is sorted and placed in neat files,
All details; poured into healing, sleep vials
Of forgettable dreams, so I wake up with smiles.
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