apricot morning
tea and the dream
fading
so slowly
alive in the steam
rising in mists
from the china
she saved
from Russia
with love
barely snatched
from the grave
of czars
and czarinas
in exile
in France
watching the
children
write words
to a dance
inspired by
the leaves on the
trees in the wind
blown on the balcony
shared with
a friend.
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