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Aletta Ren
I live near Oakwood Cemetery, often walked in the cemetery, and listened to the wind and crows. I read each tombstone I passed by, guessing the life story behind each line and date. Then, the cemetery became a realm of the past. The haiku I chose reminded me of such a feeling.

To me, history is a river with millions of souls and lives, a tree that lives with countless seasons. The leaves in Oakwood Cemetery are similar every year, just like how they were hundreds of years ago. The weeds grow on the old, high monument.

People come to the cemetery for memory. It is a place where we can enjoy the present with people in the past.

From the past they speak.
We can hear the stories told.
Their memory stays.

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