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The sunlight shaped like windows touches yellowing paper,

illuminating the shadows formed between these four walls.

The ceiling overhead preserves whatever rests inside,

like a lid placed on the top of a container to hold all.

The floor is firm and solid, though the sounds creep from below,

muffled by the carpet, softening where my feet fall.

The rain is pouring down and there is no place I can go,

so I lay my head upon my pillow and curl myself up small.

The blue is flecked with grey and white and does not give a sign

that clouds will glide beyond my view and vanish one day soon.

Yet though I cannot see them budge, I know that they will move,

for though the future is uncertain, I know they always do.

Then I will leave this empty room and smile with joyous glee,

happy to be in the world, in the bright sunshine of noon.

Summer will come once again and winter will be gone;

in fresh, invigorating air, my soul will be renewed.

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