Semi bitten berries colored dust
Picked with love, wiped, popped into mouth
Magic of memories, truest joy to trust
No matter regions, directions, north-south
Most fun were breaking rules to flout
Hiding from grownups, felt so fully grown
Dressed up old, tried altered grown tone
No amount of faking old, ages youth young
Races age unawares, all bemoan
Softly croons the nostalgia unsung
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Rupa Rao
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