Write About a Radish. . .
Write about a radish Too many people write about the moon. The night is black The stars are small and high The clock unwinds its ever-ticking tune Hills gleam dimly Distant nighthawks cry. A radish rises in the waiting sky.
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Write about a radish Too many people write about the moon. The night is black The stars are small and high The clock unwinds its ever-ticking tune Hills gleam dimly Distant nighthawks cry. A radish rises in the waiting sky.