LATE november, my son
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One fog, one infinite sky that I count on as a jacket (though it always seems to appoint-dis)
Does not show me sun, my son. I guess I have not given birth, but if I may, make my own.
With a few crayons (yellows, oranges, reds, even VIOLET red. daring) I began to create you, and you warmed my hands. Thanks.
Now,
I will be sure to set you on top of all of the others.
Not to create hierarchy. I’m simply trying to cut back on my electricity bill.