She only hears the rooster's call
In the morning and peeks deeply
At the sun's beams through the window
The way she reads a talking mouth.

She's twenty-two but thinks like twelve
Keeping fairytales in her nook
How a sixth grader reads a book.
Old papers hide in her basket

With her touch becomes piece of art
As she tears and folds the pages
Forming flowers, vases and doves.
She has c...

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