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My hand smells like Onions
My hand smells like onions
And although I hate onions
It reminds me of you, so i shall keep it
For just a bit longer.
It's not that I'm sad
But so very very happy
That i cry
And my tears are golden
And shining like the sun.
Beneath my rays of sunshine
My heart flowers
And my feet take root
So deeply in you
That I cant possibly oull away
Or be cut free
By any invading hands or swinging axe
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Written on a whim on the first day of school.