Déjà vu

You will know this poem
because it was born within you,
The vase is your vase:

The roses and baby’s breath
belong to you. The sigh
at such beauty

is your sigh. The tears
that fall with the petals
are your tears.

The Spring that bred them
is your season of showers
and sun.

These words are your words.
Only the arrangement is mine
and that is a tenuous thing.

3 thoughts on “Déjà vu

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