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Movement MAG
She was rushed
Through the crowds of Time Square
Lights flashed
And sirens cleared the way,
Frost formed on her
Eyes fluttering behind black frames,
With no space, the
Confetti was swept from the table,
Gently, they laid her
Down in a bed of broken festivity,
A sudden jostling of destiny
Halted her hurried preparations of cheer,
And the spoon froze
In a bowl of raw cookie dough.
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