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The Book

My favourite time of day is four and five in the morning,

There is a stillness then, that leaves at ?

I do not know when

The cats patiently await at window pane

As I sip my coffee

Listening to the gentle patter of what could be rain

My eyes surrendered upon a book

Empty pages; leather bound

A thought, this is the perfect origin

To write a moment I will capture in the day

Just one line

A smile from who knows who

A thought of someone loved

Penned , valued on the page.

To be found with wonder at a later stage.

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