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Gone with the wind

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A slight breeze,
the loss of a page
the desperate
grab.
It’s gone
with no chance
of returning
the rest
really doesn’t
matter,
Had that
one
not gone,
It can’t be
replaced.
It floats
like it
is carried
on wings
just a
sheet of
paper only
a quarter
of the way
filled.
That is
only enough
for the beginning
it isn’t the
same
to write
it again
when there
is nothing
left




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