In the randomness of being , afternoons skyrockets of delight dribble , finding safe harbor to anchor thus I was born . I do not proclaim to be the best nor brightest . But none the less here I am the result . Scheherazade has sung , thy kingdom come life will be done in its own fashion and so will I . On any given day of a week , hand me a mop to clean up life's over spillage . Dirt on muddy water flow out of my mop filling buckets of life's unfulfilled dreams anchored by hope .
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