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an untitled piece by Reagan Smith

Oh, Apathy, And how she sat with me On the window sill.

“Please, Come chat with me,” She said To the bird, Who remained still.

We wonder, Or I wonder If she wonders, If the bird flies happily.

Or does he not feel At his own will? Does he worry, About his nest in the tree? On top of the hill, Or his baby? Or an oil spill?

I gaze Through Apathy, As she captures me, And upon glancing back at me, She shatters me.


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