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Scraps

My fingers caress the worn paper,
trace the folds, read ink with only touch
and memory to tell me what once was.
            your words fading,
            mere traceries ghosting the pages
            with an alphabet I can no longer read.
I tear the pages and let the scraps
fall like ash to the ground.

Pamela J. Jessen

If you have any comments on this poem, Pamela J. Jessen would be pleased to hear them.

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