I hold a card with the moon

Fruit cake. Fresh and ready to age.

Old cirious books. Cold weather.

Guitar heroine, in blond hair.

I hold this card

Little bit of paper

I’m nothing here

I not

Visit you

I’m sorry. 

Hollow now, I stand

The wombat I drew

I’m not even sure it got to you

I couldn’t come

I hold this card with the moon 

And I just can’t stop thinking about 

How I couldn’t visit you 

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