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My imaginary friend whispered to me, a melody on the wind.
Calling, “It’s time to play!”
My inquisitive nose make our her rose scent,
As I follow toward the darkening path, rich with tinkling laughter
And hovering, mothering pine trees.
The day lengthens until, finally she leaves a burst of muted colors.
I hear the crunch of dead pine needles, seeking my tender feet,
But I care not, my imaginary friend is calling, seeking, whispering.
Whispering of wood nymphs, so green and lush.
Laughing about Pan, of his twittering pipes.
Night has come, he is so calm and somber,
With faint nips, gently urging me to go where sugar cane cookies are made.
It’s sweet scent, intertwining with pumpkin spice candles, and mother’s soft touch.
My imaginary friend sighs to me, a tinkling of bells.
Murmuring, “It’s time to go home.”

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