What is gone

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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.