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Apr 16
I smell the air, as clean as a city air can be.
I feel the pollen, with its unrelenting itch on my nose,
I hear the birds getting ready for the summer heat,
I see the lovers who always cross our street at three,
I taste the honey, that you loved in your tea.
I smile, three years in the dark,
three years blind, death, within the darkness of this world.
For you are gone, and that is okay.
For in these moments I know you stand by me.
A Dead Poet
Written by
A Dead Poet  The Moon
(The Moon)   
44
   Ley
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