Poetry
Alice Taylor
A Memory
The waste ground was choked with weeds
They grew above her head
But in the middle of this waste
One flower of golden red.

The little child came every day
To gaze upon this scene
The flower it was the loveliest sight
That she had ever seen.

The flower took root and blossomed
It grew inside her head
And led her on to lovely things
Long after it was dead.
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