Happiness is being a six year old child, sitting and making mud pies on a warm summer afternoon with your great uncle Jimmy. Keep in mind, it is now almost December, I'm 15 years old, I do not have a great uncle Jimmy, and I detest the idea of making mud pies. |
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November 30, 2004
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JB sent me here.
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June 22
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"What wasted unconditional love on somebody who doesn't believe in the stuff... Oh, well."
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Though this is of little importance.
Tis a good poem. The prose poetry format is most fitting.
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