Unacknowledged

I wrote a book, I filled them pages,
With stories you filed in love stages,
You typed them in neat sheets for me,
As I tired reading, you made draft tea,
You proofed, the creases smoothened,
Bound them, my dreams couriered.

My pages have now turned ashen,
In shame, wrinkled; wrung so wan.

I failed to acknowledge you.
I now cannot undo.

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3 thoughts on “Unacknowledged

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