August 20, 2007
- Angie Nabrotzky Lassig
- Nov 12, 2020
- 1 min read

It was me who was missing in my life.
I caught myself during a passing storm,
I held tight,
though the ropes were wet and rough.
I dried myself in the spring breeze,
the sun warm and inviting.
How could I misplace something so vital?
It was a trap, a trick,
I was lulled to sleep,
then awakened,
by the storm.
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