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The Bodies Of Our Old Selves

My hair
Changed with the passing seasons
Like autumn leaves
You liked it best in the summer

When the bodies of our old selves hung
From ropes in the treetops
Mine swaddled in black

I was a raven in a fishing net

And it was only the beginning
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POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
This poem covers three distinct memories with the exchange students of my district. The first is of our orientation weekend during my first month in France when we did a ropes course in a forest, and had a bonfire in front of our youth hostel, which was on church grounds. The second was a scavenger hunt of sorts, spoiled by pouring rain and the fact that most of us got lost. The third was our final night all together, where we danced and talked until morning.
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