We gather the small things, we think nothing of them
These mundane crumbs of life
We pick them up, we hold them, fill our pockets, our baskets, bags, suitcases, trunk of the car
We grumble about them, we feel overloaded, we don’t know why there’s so much stuff anyway
We haul them upstairs, shake them out, leave them to dry on the porch, pack them up for a t…
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