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she doesn’t know the flavour of the tea,

but it warms her in the winter and the summer.

She doesn’t know which coast she’ll see

or which of her brothers is handsomer

and what it means to run so fast

when she’s sicker than know and number

than when she’s drunk in winter’s past

or on the banks with a noble stranger

and she wishes winds were at her mast

and the man didn’t bring her danger

but instead he was royalty

or her father, the genetic arranger.

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