so young, it died on the vine
next to stacks of library books
written by authors starting with "D",
having suffered through "A",
wandered through "B" and "C".
having skipped "E" and started in on "F"
I said "F" this and bedded down with
Milan Kundera, a sweet "K", entirely
out of order, but so in keeping
with the love of reading.
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