i read what you had to say;
when will the dush be wiped away?
when will you sweep the thought of me
into your pile of memories?
when will all that i've given you
be brushed into a dustpan to
be carried out of your mind's door,
to be bothered with no more?
if dust is all i am to you,
was, or ever will be, too,
then your spirit is strong, i trust,
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