Precious Pearls

A soft wind blows and carries with it
The smell of flowers and salt water
That caresses the memories I am
Painting with a bright and colourful brush.
With gentle, whispered words it says
To hold onto these precious pearls
Because the tide is coming in again
And it will drag me out with contempt
For the fact that even for a second
I was recklessly and passionately free.

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