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  • Writer's pictureJulia Roscoe

Everlasting time

The snow tasted like a promise And as she walked barefoot on a land of ice happy days she saw in the white horizon

The fog tasted like the past And as she twirled around in memory-lane nostalgic days she saw through blurry tears

The grass tasted like a gift And as she marched ahead in her fleeting reality palpable days she saw among reassuring presences


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