I lost a poem
It might have been me at my best
It might have been my peak

I worried some nobody would find it
And become rich and famous
Off my words

But then I found your poem
On a shelf, in a hundred year old
Home in Ohio

And I realized it didn’t matter who
Finds my poem and the others like it –
Because it will probably be someone

The exact someone,
Who needed to hear it

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