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Dear Danielle (poem, anecdote)

I always knew that you were nice, since the night we met, rolling dice.

Soon, I saw you were intelligent and cool, from the first and many shots of pool.

You told me of a haggis birthday, and pronouncing “Edinburgh” the right way.

Scotland meant so much to me, which you read alongside each **sip of whiskey**.

The ice cream and stout at Thimble Island’s bar. And the story of my forehead’s scar.

If you leave New Haven, I won’t be sad. Because, somehow, somewhere, you’re still rad.

May the composition of your necklace stay perfect. Keep on striving Danielle, I know it’s worth it.

Your viral smiles have done much for me, alongside some southern hospitality.

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