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Writer's pictureSpike Woods

Not the same.

A long long time has gone

And here I’m home again.

It seems she’s moved along:

But the place is still the same.


I walked among the trees

Calling out her name.

Nothing stirred but the breeze,

But the place is still the same.


Remembrance of her smile

Has faded and has changed,

Over all the years and the miles:

But the place is still the same.


I thought of all the lies

And lit a crazy flame;

Now like her smiling face

The place is not the same.

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