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The Secret
by Jan Oskar Hansen

Hand written verses in a red folder
decorated with flowers;

She had written them in her youth
when waiting to see him walk by.

She read them for the last time and
tossed her girlhood into the fire.

A blue tongue of blaze devoured her
work, ashes of the past flew upwards;

Up the chimney flakes of dreams winged
and landed weightless in the snow.

Yet, she could not erase her poems as
they had bonded with her heart.

In a lagoon of old age she floated until
her heart and poetry parted.
Posted by David Evans

David Evans, Feature Editor
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