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March 29, 2015

 

 

When all is lost,

it hits the spot;

that something which

one quite forgot.

 

During idle time,

in quiet repose,

it drifts unannounced,

passing the nose.

 

In the form of a feather,

causing a sneeze,

or a draught from a door,

caused by a breeze,

 

or a sudden flashback,

that takes one by chance,

so much so, that it prompts

a second glance.

 

The past, never far

from the surface, it seems,

cold comfort and yet,

nice reliving those dreams.

 

 

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