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POETRY
7
“Oh! Old home—do you remember me?
For I remember you!”
But all I see is a land forever changed.
It will never be the same—ghosts are never real.
What is one grain in the sands worldwide?
What are a thousand pebbles in the fury of the tide?
As I stand upon this hill, the cars speed by
Neither stopping nor observing—are they gone before they come.
The times in the past,
The pebbles that are passed
Will never return, but how I wish
How I wish they would return.