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A Matter, of Course
Of course I do
You know it's true
I'm trying hard
To not tell you
Every time
In every rhyme
The effort's been
An uphill climb
I like to write
Most every night
Sometimes until
Dawns first light
My thoughts abloom
To edit, groom
Until they're ready
To consume
Small bouquets
Of poem sprays
Scented words
To start your days
I hope you find
A different kind
Of poem here
I love your mind
Copyright ©
Andres Luis Bigote
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