Untitled
- Emily Murphy
- May 9, 2017
- 1 min read
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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