Unclasped
Nov 8 · 2 min read
A poem
Each mellow leaf a memory to wash with life’s tide, to stream on unknown shores where the flow drifts.
And yet, we hold the crumpled skeletons as they turn to dust.
A poem
Each mellow leaf a memory to wash with life’s tide, to stream on unknown shores where the flow drifts.
And yet, we hold the crumpled skeletons as they turn to dust.

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