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Empathy is a problem I have.

It’s like having big ears

or a crooked nose.

I once picked up a dead mouse

in my yard. Or a baby squirrel.

His eyes hadn’t opened yet.

So he saw nothing of the world

before he died.

Or she.

I cried for a day with invisible

tears. Grieving I think.

But I said nothing to anyone.

For then it would be like

getting pinned with sharp

scorns from classmates while

encircled on a playground.

Only now, any listener

would simply launch a thought:

My, what an odd fellow.

-by Lyman Ditson

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