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Sounds Like Sunday

Time doesn't always heal

It just breathes and swallows memories

Like the seasons change -

Sending showers; beating flowers

Into the mud.

And nothing is forever in this place.

Nothing but the way my heart fits in your hands;

The held breath of hope;

And the sweet lingering taste of grace.

How blessed we are for crying now,

For we will laugh someday...and how

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