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Ashleigh Black
Poems
Aug 2014
Baby, Baby
We no longer have to
carve our names into trees
or scribe them on a sheet of parchment
or even imprint them on our hearts like a tattoo
because, baby,
trees grow old and die
I crumbled that piece of paper long ago
and scars, over time, heal.
Written by
Ashleigh Black
27/F/Owosso, Michigan
(27/F/Owosso, Michigan)
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