The glue is drying and it brings tears to her eyes;
it brings hope to her life -
a great, good unknown.
The Common cannot touch her.
She is new every day.
Her book has no lines.
She adds vanilla to taste, because it is right.
She sweetens and beautifies trails of destruction.
"This is my life," she says.
Like a black walnut tree, she holds secrets inside.
She spins through generations and stretches the confines of time to find true love.
Our spirits bump together as she speaks.
"I'm a mess," she says.
I'm a mess, too.
We will part soon;
We will be far away,
and running together toward the end.
She helps me to understand.
We will never be far apart.
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