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Poem

An orange little ball,
Tattered and torn to bits,
No longer does it fly straight,
Its course lost, its path in fits,

An orange little ball,
Sad within its cracks and in its creases,
Faded bumps, its lost its grip,
It now falls to pieces,

Orange little ball,
Come to death smiling,
Never live just to die,
Happiness lives in and amidst the crying,

Orange little ball,
Wipe the tears away,
There is peace to be found,
In and amongst the fray.

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