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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Other >> ID #1610230 |
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The days drift on and on.
But there must be an end. I see her face in every crowd, Hear her voice in every word Images of snatched moments we had, Drift like snowflakes through my heart. I never knew why she left. I guess she's never really gone. But I know there's a hole in my heart, Where she used to be.
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