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Mittens (Free verse) by somemorepoetry
When they turn, they'll fall
That's when smoke will rise up from my fire
As I burn them in piles
Leaving ashes
For my children to stare at and mourn
There is nothing else to rake
My yard is empty
Ready for grass to grow
Nothing but the little mittens chasing me
Remind me that there are always more
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Arithmetic Mean: 7.0
Weighted score: 5.537883
Overall Rank: 2542
Posted: December 14, 2003 12:37 PM PST; Last modified: December 14, 2003 12:37 PM PST
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