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The night is cold and black in the musty New England room,

Curled up in bed by the warm candlelight,

Thoughts of the golden rays of summer days go jogging through her mind.

She is the picture of beauty and serenity lounging beside the pool,

Head thrown back in peaceful bliss, gracious as always,

Watching dragonflies twirl and dance above her in perfect time and grace.

In her chlorine soaked, pruning hand, a martini is delicately held,

Extra strong,

Extra pickles.

Ah the good ol’ days.

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