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05/20/24 at 03:15AM
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It's the wee hours of the morning,
when I hear the scratch of pen,
on my paper notebook.
It was early but day has began.
What other reason,
can there be, in this life,
then wanting to be happy,
while diminishing our strife?
I write. I pray,
for just one more time,
from what was lost,
is returned. It's mine.
