Poem: Old Memories Still Here

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Dust on the countertop
spills onto the floor
years of a life
well lived, I wonder.
Locks of hair
pressed into a book
next to faded flowers
long dead but present.

Stones worn away
by the pelting rain
and the roaring wind
names and dates unreadable
But the sleeping ones
remember though their
voices are never heard
by the ones who are awake.

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