they’ve always said, when you feel a random shiver, that a rabbit has run across your future grave
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Little girls have big
Imaginations, spinning
Worlds in tiny hands
Eyes full of stars
Constellations paint
Itchy feet, fortresses
Of blankets and
Bravado, never knowing
Fear or to be more
Precise, refusing
To make it religion
Choosing to find
The god within, all
Fire and smoke and
Sugar spark, the
Secret is: though
They are gobbled
By the goblins of time
But the clever ones
Never really grow up