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Letters MAG
March 16, 2018
A war within a nation,
letters were my salvation.
Muskets butchered friend and foe,
was brutal to feel alone.
My dearest one, far away,
All I did was write and wait.
The silence gnawed at my mind.
Crying on each lonely night.
I’d always write, quill and ink,
“Love, Mom,” and have a third drink.
© Troy W., Kannapolis, NC
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