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The Rock
I am a rock on the beach, a rock on the beach
down a kid will reach, pick me up
and toss me into the cool water
I sit there for years
slowly
crawling
toward the shore.
When I reach the smooth sand, where the water laps,
It washes over me, then back for more.
That was my old life, the good one.
Now, I just sit on this shelf, dust over me.
It only leaves when a big fluff of yellow
runs
over
me, brushing it away.
I was a rock, free as could be,
now all I am is a souvenir
someone got for free
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