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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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