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The Key

Once you asked me to give you a map

though I hadn’t one for something like that.

But there was that key I’d had always

a fat iron key somewhat rusty

certainly mysterious

that I’d unearthed in the yard

at 6148 while digging for worms.

We fished, occasionally, as kids with

plain bamboo poles.  I was twelve then

at my peak as a person and there it was

that marvelous key under a few inches of dirt.

So in place of a map I gave you my most

prized possession:  that old rusty key.

The look of bewilderment on your face

told All.  We did not last but I did

get my key back.

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