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Remember

the remnants of wreaths
and bouquets
still
preserved after a century
and a half. A single leaf
of laurel, a rose bud
faded to rusty orange: slain
offerings,
as if springtime itself
had been offered
as a sacrifice.

///

found poem from Goodheart, Adam. “Lincoln.” National Geographic April (2015): 50. Print.

Published inPoems

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