It has been a good morning for a steaming cup of Red Rose tea, while looking out my window at a snowy landscape and to let my thoughts wander.
No Time of Their Own
I have picked up pieces of time that are scattered all around of an hour, day, month or year that were left behind.
Pieces of dreams that have no time of their own
They are borne in the wind like autumn leaves, lost forever in the yesterdays
Except for those I hold, dreams that have no place of their own.
All is not lost for these fragile reminders of fantasies, for often the sunlight sparkles like tiny sequins from deep within and warms my heart.
Adios
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