They Come And Go

They come in bunchesAt odd hours ...In the middle of the nightOr wee hours of the morning Did I keep the window open By mistake But then the breeze wicked as everSwishes them away...Without taking leave of me I was never meant to promise them a pageI was never meant to imprison them With a quil... in ink...in bold letters maybeI was never meant to own themI realise of lateButIt

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