Food for Thought-The Day We Found Ourselves Living Under a Rug

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The day we found ourselves living under the rug,
I discovered Christmas could be celebrated in lint,
Pieces of life,
Knocked off,
Easily sent,
To the ground,
Scattered, smothered, and covered,
In year old birthday cake spilt by mother,
And one ornery nickel which seems to hover,
Above the varnish and beyond the nails,
This seems to make life more than unfit,
For a family who enjoys a very good sit,
Now living in the Chinese made dark,
Listening to a black dog bark.

–Richard Bryant

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