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Saturday, 10 September 2011

MELANCHOLIC HAPPINESS

A warm glow comes through the window,
Soft music oozes from the lap top,
Weather can not decide how to behave.
A brown, grounded aroma fills my nostrils,
Small sips of swirly smoke slide down my tongue.

I think of you,
I write of you.
The little pilot is rekindled.
I miss you,
I am glad you are back.

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Palabras que fluyen, huyen y en algún lado tienen que acabar.