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Anonymous File :-(, x)
Hi OP. I wrote you a poem, quickly, in hopes of healing your heart.
Bunnies are great. Wonderful. Brown bunnies eat the bird seed that falls from the feeder. Bunnies don't come out in the rain or when the neighborhood cats prowl. Bunnies, yo. Bunnies. They live in the blackberry brambles. Yo. Bunnies in the briars, but who knows how deep their burrows go in the black earth, yo.
They are on a vacant lot, and the people that own it come, yo, and cut crosswise paths through the stickers so they can harvest the berries, yo. That's cool, motherfuckers. Yo, the bunnies eat the bird seed that falls from the feeder. Be welcome to the berries, yo. But the their burrows are unknown, as are the treasures therein, and the gutters they dig to mislead the rainwater mislead all, yet there is a sense that there are treasures there, yo. Yo. Bunnies. Yo.
I hope this heals your heart.
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