I am not a fruit ripe for the picking
I am not made simply to be preserved in a jar
I am a living, breathing organism
I grow, I die
I can hurt, I can learn
I do not exist for any other purpose than
the simple pleasure of feeling
the sun on my face
The official literary magazine of Wilson College
I am not a fruit ripe for the picking
I am not made simply to be preserved in a jar
I am a living, breathing organism
I grow, I die
I can hurt, I can learn
I do not exist for any other purpose than
the simple pleasure of feeling
the sun on my face
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