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When the world begins again
I remember
dreams of springtimes past
blossoming in every petal,
bright and shiny
in the morning of forgotten past regret.
I cry
as the rain begins to fall.
Gentle though the spring rain glistens,
I remember.
I turn away
as the last flower rears its head,
and to it give the memory
to hold as I walk
and let it fade
into a bygone day.
I let that gentle rain
wash my tears away,
and never look back until the other side
where is revealed
a waiting summer sun.

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