My Old Satchel
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Still I carry your heavy fragrance in the old satchel over my slanted shoulder.
Life flies away from me day by day.
And our golden school stands still with new students.
In that narrow flowery path they walk to our nostalgic school
And we are too old to stand at the gate.
I imagine the music teacher's sensitive finger tips touch the reeds
And gives the melancholy song of life again.
Dedication to one of the prominent poetesses in the site Sandra Fowler
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