Like rediscovering an old book
Freshly fluent in the language of your mind
It reads, as you
Tune in to its frequency
Somebody said they regretted
Not learning a foreign language
And I found myself smiling
At opportunities lying in wait
The book is a translation
Of a language quickly fading
From your memory, yet
Echoes of it animate your dreams
You'll probably never recover
Knowledge previously gained
But there's variety to savour
No two syllables the same
The richness of your interiority
Only multiplies anew
With every fresh, new day
You make a better you
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