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Pure, White Flakes

As I stand outside my door,
wind upon my face.
I look in awe at pure, white flakes
that vanish without a trace.
My mind returns to 'better' days
with the ground c'ered in snow,
weekends spent just building men
while imaginations grow.

So as I stand outside my door
waiting for the day
that I can track through mighty drifts
and let my imagination play.

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