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“I Would Rather,” a poem . . .
Rather, I would live than write a single poem. To take a walk or touch a cheek or glide a comb, Through hair that is not dry, but lustrous be. I would rather not be sad, but find my life happy.
A poem is nice, but I’m inside, And I would rather run or glide, Through wind with sun embracing all my ways, For I am sad and lonely these days.
I have the will a poem to write, But I am scared to run outside and fly a kite, Too weak of will and body to engage, In acts of life, stuck on this page.
If I could do both, sure I would, To write and live if only angels could, Help me regain my happy will and hope. With poetry alone, companions mope.
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