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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in Jasmine's Poetry

Elegy For Summer

How strange it seems, love,
that you left me in the east.
To the west you ran,

chasing the sunset,
hunting Venus de Milo;
but Jupiter's fire

burns not for your roots.
Your emotional cancer
shows through this, my love.

This time I will not falter.
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