Friday, February 23, 2024

Passwords

The morning is a home that never was;
a longing for the memories that flew away;
the mystery of the riddles that remained unsolved;
they all return with the cold and callous morning breeze
in the biting cold of February..
They are the password I saved too often
And stowed away too deep 
and fumbled in the places where it was never to be.
Alas the multiple forms we give to the most treasured things,
and never find when we need them most.

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