Old days sometimes
Appear at odd times
Like a sparrow from faraway land
Perched on the windowsill of my mind.
A smile crosses my lips
Seeing it there
Waiting for me to feed it
Memories wait
To become part of the present.
I sit down, pen in hand
Scribble something,
Cry a few tears
Laugh a few laughs
Close the book and then walk away.
The sparrow then flies away
Back to where it came from
Only to return on some other day.
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