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The thermos stands like a torpedo
on its end.
A gift from my grandparents,
a reminder of family forgotten,
gathers dust.
It's still full of green tea.
Unwashed and ignored,
It's lost all it had to say.
But maybe I should wash
the stagnant thermos.
Fresh, iced Oolong is best
in the summer heat.
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Author's Comments

Final Revision of my first poem written for my spring poetry class.

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June 12
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