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foxes
Stars fall into cereal boxes
that we munch and crunch
without a spare for dresses
or a flirt as we were kids..
We see nothing
but the innocence
we were meant to be.
The hunters chase after foxes
with a shadow and a hunch
to spill the red of messiness,
and a strange to rid...
the world of something
so beautiful......
silence isn't homely
but utmost sincerely
of the line that ends.
Copyright ©
RGH Poetry
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