the cello played the rain
on Friday down the window pane
and as each droplet raced
I with my finger traced
the outline of a memory
brought forth out from my reverie
and the image that appeared
turned to you.
the cello played the rain
on Friday down the window pane
and as each droplet raced
I with my finger traced
the outline of a memory
brought forth out from my reverie
and the image that appeared
turned to you.
Nothing incomplete about that thought and your words.
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