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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Contest Entry >> ID #1652765 |
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Maiking things, breaking things, mending the borken things, My hands are shaking and nothing fits. The holes are too big, the pegs too short. No prizes for even my best of attempts. I'm all fingers and fumbling, my stomach is grumbling... ...Time for lunch... My sandwich is perfect, all groups are present. The bread is just right, the butter is even. The lettuce is crisp and the cheese good and pungent. I made my lunch and I'm proud that I did. Instead of bridges, its bagettes I should build. Line count 11
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