Rain that has stopped
Makes the memories wet.
The grasses whisper about the flowers
The sky still widens its mind
It captures the whole universe.
Lost are the old paints of a house
Yellow with age.
The house stands as a fort of memories
A swing attached in the garden
Makes the attachment carefree
Happiness blossoms and
Dries softly like a dew
A drawing which a child makes
With her inexperienced hands
Is talked often,
Only because it is also an art like nature
That recollects the beauty
In diversity.
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