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Sep 2020
In Autumn river, my thought drift and came.
The people are flaky as withered leaf,
their fickleness that put my past to shame.
A once vibrant pears is now not so green.
Name lost in time, face forgotten;
the person is now foreign.
old willow
Written by
old willow  17/M
(17/M)   
  333
     Sara Brummer, Eshwara Prasad and Khoi
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