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by Jennifer L Banks

I see the notches in the soft wood.
I didn’t notice how many there were before.
I wonder, sometimes
After time
Can you remember the notch you made for me?
Or am I just a dent, made by the knife for
Your amusement
eventually forgotten
When there are too many notches to count and the
Wood is scarred.


Posted on 08/26/2003
Copyright © 2020 Jennifer L Banks

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Max Bouillet on 08/26/03 at 06:49 PM

Sad little verse that speaks volumes. Thought-provoking words the promote introspection on the reader's part.

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