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Untitled
February 21, 2017
I hear birds and crawl from my bed,
following the scent of breakfast
I mope to the barn, weary and cold.
I grab a hay bale, and drag it.
My grandma stops. “The story is done.”
I hear birds again, singing in freedom.
© Allan L., Plano, TX
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This is written in a Korean poetic form called "Sijo."