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Feb 2014
building up,
I skipped past 400 bc Beowulf to 642-735 bc Bede and then was hung up on the word "irr--"
I don't know how it ended.
i asked where he found it. I was told it was his great-grandmother's. I knew I didn't deserve that.
I was never that good a friend, never a lover, always that ulterior motive
He asked if I had read the note he slipped amid the sketches and notes
in old time cursive. I hadn't.
On the tattered brown leather chairs he sat by me, as I read.
I read all but a word of it, i couldn't make it out. But, in his eyes,
I am a Woman who loves Words.
and he couldn't be more right.
Written by
   Emerald Proctor
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