ABC's Doubled

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Fifth-grade  reading  reminded  me  of  my  brother's  jazz.

We wrote  poetry  with  embellishments  like  topaz.

My number  two  pencil  scurried  across  a  lined  page.

I  was  learning  all  about  rhyme  schemes  at  that  young  age.

The  short  poem  I  wrote  in  class  is  nowhere  around.

And  my brother's  alto  saxophone  makes  far  less  sound.

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