My NameA Poem by Caroline Blairexplanation kills the art
My name was a name.
I heard it everyday, Many, many times And it doesn’t usually startle me, But when he said it, it was more than 3 syllables And that almost made me jump When his raspy voice turned a bundle of letters into a garden of flowers, When he broke down each vowel, Shook off the rust,
Made it sound brand new. Like he was the first person to ever say it. © 2016 Caroline BlairAuthor's Note
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