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The grit of breadcrumbs, That pass between our thumbs When I exchange a brew for a kiss. It’s these Sunday mornings I miss. Let us savour these hours, Residing in the conversations of others. Give me this instead of flowers, The language of mothers and lovers.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021




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Date: 7/12/2021 2:15:00 AM
Beautiful creation. Congratulations!
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Date: 7/12/2021 12:51:00 AM
Wow! Congrats! Thanks for sharing this. God bless you.
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Date: 7/11/2021 1:41:00 PM
I love this poem. It has a lovely balance of view.
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things