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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 goes jogging through her mind.

The picture of beauty and grace lounging beside the pool,

Head thrown back in peaceful, gracious bliss,

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

In her chlorine soaked, pruning hand, a martini is held with grace,

Extra strong,

Extra pickles.

Ah the good ol’ days.

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