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There’s a café down the hill
where I do my wistful Sunday dreaming
Sitting in the front bay window
hypnotised by raindrops
as they whisper against thin panes
I watch the people out in the street
pull their coats over their heads
and dash from shop to shop

Eavesdropping on the other diners
and the occasional glance towards the crossword
I let my mind wander freely
and chat with the wee...

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