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  • Emily Murphy


There once was a record player

It was brand new and worked magnificently

The shiny records were stacked neatly on a shelf

Every night, the family would put one on the center spindle

When it played, the happy family would dance and sing

The children laughed and the parents smiled

Now the dusty record player sits in the attic

The cracked, useless records lay around on the floor

The parents have split and the family no longer dances

The music of their life has stopped

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