• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 12
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An Essence Remains

Forgotten in the attic of the mind,
The old armchair of comfort
Waits with worn creases;
Alone in time.

The last visitor was a lame pigeon -
A warbling feathered sightseer,
Not a loyal sitter;
Escaping life’s rhythm.

Since human warmth had left the home,
The chair had no purpose
But to wait,
To rot:
An abandoned throne.