by the lake reflecting the invigorating sky,
I gaze at the rustling leaf,
and the sounds of stream and breeze.
Like a dream that was not remembered,
but was never forgotten,
I see visions of grass and the sun,
The sights seem familiar,
The air tastes of a memory,
Like the dew on morning windows,
Like the dead branches floating,
Like the numbness in fingertips,
Like the ghosts of memories.
As I wander this nameless street,
By the lake reflecting the invigorating sky,
stolen from the belgian's dreams.
I gaze at the colors of autumn,
and the sounds of stream and breeze.
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