The days, the minutes
move forward and backward;
I swallow, sometimes thirsty,
sometimes gagging,
always curious.
I could fill a bucket with woe
but I choose to open wide
in the face of the big empty.
The days, the minutes
move forward and backward;
I swallow, sometimes thirsty,
sometimes gagging,
always curious.
I could fill a bucket with woe
but I choose to open wide
in the face of the big empty.
The Word Rummager 
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