The Writer's Desk

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Old, dusty, neglected
It sits in the basement
Of the old house
Forgotten.
The lively, cheerful
Young woman
Who once used
To write and write
Is gone.
She would dust it,
Clean it, keep the drawers
Oiled.
But now it’s nothing but
Rust.
After months,
Someone comes
To care
He is her son.
He sits down,
Caresses the rotting
Wood
And writes.





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