The rustle, the shake, the smell of old pine needles
The cat heads for the door, the kids play on the floor
The drip, drip, as the stalk gives up its place in scented room,
The lights already tangled ready for their cardboard box,
...
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The world wide web, a place to say hello no time to write. The loft door opens, the darkness smothers the sparkles... congitations of the present situations.... we all experience the same dear poet almost everyday. we are too busy we lose a lot of joys of life. thank you for portraying it...... so well. thank you dear poet. tony