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An accidental poem
Full cup, proud and tall.Water, waiting to be drunk,stands atop my desk. Clean? A grand idea!Dust has accumulatedeverywhere I look. Moving this and that,to reach the nooks and crannies,cup is forgotten. Although not for longas, in wiping down the desk,arm and cup do meet. The cup pivots, shakes.It wasn’t expecting this;unsure what to do. Momentarily,anything…
