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Memoirs

Journal, one of many.
At the rack's edge lies
A memoir of the old days
All but covered with dust
Unsure when unfolded last

 Inside were like "intestine"
Rose turned brown, flattened
Pile of letters, now yellowish
Fragments damaged by silverfish

 Tales divulged once again
Absurdly recalling the pain
Nevertheless, I smiled
I learned being that wild

 - M
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