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This moment, mortal as you or I,
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The Puritans thought that we are granted the ability to love
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The sky was the color of a cut lime
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A planet may hide hundreds of planets.
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Half past twelve. How the time has passed.
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A single thought takes light years to articulate,
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when the very placement of the stars
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It won’t last. Memory is sweet.
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I come home this way, through the watercolor
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(stressing maybe more than he should have