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Aug 2020
The leaves will change
And fall to our feet
The winds will blow
Let the branches meet

Crisp morning air
To fill the lungs
Of townspeople walking
Warmed by the sun

Yet still our paths
May not yet cross
Lest we bathe
In seas of loss

The world still turns
So trapped in place
Stuck longing just
To touch your face
Written by
Rhiannon  28/F/London
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