The Stories Died for

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When a story is told,

passed by generations

father to son,

mother to child.

 

These stories need to be protected.

When the fires wreak hovok upon a city

we must race to libraries.

 

When the floods kill a person,

we must flee to the paper,

not the mountains.

 

For what is the point of living 

if the people who live after us,

do not know of us?

 

They do not know what we have learned,

What we have won.

What we have lived for

What we have died for.

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