Enclosed among loose pages
A peacock feather dwells.
Somewhere in some corner
Nestle age-wrinkled roses.
The faded flower unfolds
Vivid memories of yesteryear.
The wrinkled roses retain
The smell of days bygone.
A fanatic desire to preserve,
Reminders of the reverence they deserve,
Clutching at the elusive strands
Of memories, binding them at their cores.
Vaishali Dhage
(Class of ’85)
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