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THE BOOK by Gene Minix The winter wind whistled outside. She sat close to the fire. Old now and gray. She held a book with wrinkled hands And dreamed of soft sweet memories Of a long ago day. For a moment she was there again. Young and vibrate , skin soft, eyes bright. For long moments she did look. She felt joy, heard the laughter of friends. She felt the excitement of youth again. Clutched tight her high school year book. © Copyright 2026, by Gene Minix. All rights reserved. |
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