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Poem: Tag 

It used to be
A game of catching
Up. The little kid
A little bit behind.

You set the pace
Gold and glistening
Bright and beautiful
Bearing the baton.

Who knew I'd be the one
To take the lap
Simple and constant
Plodding and true.

No victory in this upset
Gold long gone—
Baton abandoned
A fading you, waving
In the distance.

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Speaking of...

  • A poem by Mary Vallo.

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