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Found Poetry 330


sometimes life is cardboard rooms
with dim holes in the ceiling
you dream it will rain from there
and puddle that old carpet
until it floods and floats your home
holding onto a small boat in a wild river
you find your face in the crisp water
and drink the cold moonlight

This poem was created from Sylvia Plath's collected works. Click here to get a book of Plath's poems.

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