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Jan 2022
Do you still think of me?
Or is my memory strewn haphazardly
across frost-bitten sidewalks
like once-beloved Christmas trees?
Formerly prized possessions
decaying near piles of garbage
having served their purpose
in due time
replaced by others, perky
and piercing green
Written by
     My Dear Poet, Aishu, Traci Sims and Adaley June
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