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Harry Chapin
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The Shortest Story
It is me seventh day, I taste the hunger and I cry; my brother and sister cling to Mama's side. She squeezes her breast, but it has nothing to provide; someone weeps, I fall asleep.
It is twenty days today, Mama does not hold me anymore; I open my mouth but I am too weak to cry. Above me a bird slowly crawls across the sky; why is there nothing now to do but die?
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