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by Veida Dima

Spinning, spinning ‘round and ‘round

The thoughts circle the track.

Nothing can stop them; I reach out to grab them.

There is something they lack

Jumping, jumping up and down 

The thoughts skip with the rope.

Nothing can calm them; I try to sooth them.

There is no hope.

Skipping, skipping hand in hand

The thoughts aren’t tender.

Nothing can quiet them; I want to block them

Do they realize they hinder?

Busy, busy the days go by

The thoughts are still mine.

Nothing can claim them; I want to protect them

They create my shine.

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