The Looking Glass
Rearranging life's board amid the stillness of their early morn; silence
Takes her hand and shifting sands ? Careful this brush a thoughtful stroke..
What's the hurry she says; a cup of coffee as cigarette; there's no one there ?
Closing her eyes a batch of butterflies flying by; circling waterfalls in purple skies
With golden locks their diamond crowns; silver bells tubular clouds ? We were young.
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