Photocopied trees circle me,
And I feel as though I am being painted,
As though a fair away brush has brought us all into existence–
Then a child runs too carelessly,
falls on their face,
And the painting is slightly torn.
Photocopied trees circle me,
And I feel as though I am being painted,
As though a fair away brush has brought us all into existence–
Then a child runs too carelessly,
falls on their face,
And the painting is slightly torn.
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