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The Chill of Remembrance
I dreamed a dream of insignificant means
but is this one not a memory?
the echo of a shrouded past.
So haunting is the breadth of my imageless feelings,
constantly I dwell on the shiver of memory,
in the graceful dance of nurture by the wind:
in the whistle of the whispered autumn shed:
to wonder if the chill of remembrance,
is not merely mirage born
from sleeps of my watery past

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Sometimes our dreams blur into reality, leaving us with no way to distinguish truth from fiction.