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POEM:

Some things are sweet

like you and me,

like the last rose who sits out wide,

like the honey jar from Greece in July.

Some things are sour,

like the bones in my feet

at the tendons pulling hard

like the weather in December, not true to form.

Some things are hot,

like my heart in the calendar

so few hours for so many plans

or like my legs in the summer sand, red and tanned.

It's all sweet and it's all sour,

yet I keep burning up

from trying to cool down.