This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Ashoka chapter.
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From whence comes this wind out of the dying embers of a lost time and place?
Is it the same that sweetened the warm afternoons of those bygone carefree days?
Over snowy moon drenched peaks above a sea of fluffy white,
Glittering pale and sharp against the cold starry night.
And over silvery moon lit shores of sand white as chalk,
With salty sea foam unrelenting on stubborn rock.
From whence comes this wind playing in my hair?
Over mountains and seas with memories to share.