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And she is a poem.

And she rhymes.

And she stands out in a crowd

With no one by her side.

And she lives happiest

When she lives in the past

Drawing on memories

And childhood and things like that.

And when people smile.

They chuckle then move on

And she is glad to bring joy

But no one stays long.

And she is passed over

By big words and big names,

By people with metaphors on their minds

And mystery in the way

And her welcome is worn.

And she knows.

And she fades into lost memory.

And so it goes.

And twenty years from now

They will think back

And wonder what happened

And where she is at.

But they won’t remember

Her name or her face

Only that she once was

A part of time and of place.

So they will look.

But not find.

And they will mourn for the poem

That they lost to time.

bouldin@stolaf.edu