When the darkness alludes to the mental trauma of your vacuum,
and the seagull propels through the windy sea’s of my dust room,
and the plates of melancholy roads rift and try to sway my trapeze,
and the sweet jar gets opened for the hands of my solemn appease,
then, reminders will fly from my minds bookshelves and flower vases; as you,
are the memory I will cherish and forecast as the season I felt, always as new!
Hail Dr!!!
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