Poetry

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When I pass on, I will be as dust
Without a title or a dream
I will fly from my home
And it will never be noticed
My body will become grass
And my tomb will be unmarked
The who and why will go with time
And I will be as dust
Unknown and with no story
Yet I will not cast away the life still in me today
For the time will come when I lose my name and face
But not today, not today.

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