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Oct 2017
as a girl it didn't
         that blossom
would fade
from pink cotton to
brown mulch,
to a congealed lump
my mother would
    painstakingly pull from
  full pockets at the
end of the day.
  its bloom consumed
by rain,
  and left to decay,  
its perfume a memory
that filled the air,
that with
   time you start to
        doubt was even there.
Written by
katie  Liverpool
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