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A heart, which is emptied of love, 
ends by stiffening its passions,
like the tree that dries up 
for lack of its prodigal sap 
of strength, and its leaves dry up, 
and its flowers die   
the nostalgia, of those times 
better some days than others 
make you see, flashes of colours. 
But everything is ephemeral, 
it lasts only moments, 
what is gone 
what's gone is not caught by the winds.