To be granted a weekend of clarion skies,
Then immediately plunged into the first taste of winter winds.
Yesterday I left work in inky oblivion-
I fear warm afternoons perched on sun-soaked balconies are over.
Here lies the start of my solistial melancholia.
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I am excited about imminent change.
When things fall through this is all you can look forward to.
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With a firm hold on horse-pride and repose
I battle with happiness.
Regret is possible only when admission of err is volunteered.
Still I string along.
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I struggle to gather memories from my childhood.
It kills me that most things pre-kinder have been lost.
I remember tantrums while writing a page full of I's;
The big orange buttons on my cotton dress;
Charcoal sketches of trains mounted on red frames.
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I've chosen to stand by certain commitments, and deny others.
When the height of winter knocks
I will have a better idea.
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