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Not Only I
I am from the parchment that slides through my fingers,
from the frail, old children’s book
that is torn to pieces.
I am from honey and leaves, a sweet known to make a cup of tea.
I am from the rose bush that hid my grandparents,
to keep them safe when they were near.
I am from the shivers,
during the cold, constant nights.
I am from the sorrow and snow,
feeling within and fallen upon.
I am from the foreign tongue,
with hazel eyes and dark brown hair.
I am from the shots fired
the banging on doors to await their end.
I am from thousands, not only I.
I am from the accused, the runaways.
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Since I am from Poland, I wanted to share some history about my family. This is about the Nazi's invading our country and how my family hid from them. They survived and I am proud of where I came from.