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| 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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