These muted days

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These muted days

​Your blankets have been hot-washed, tumbled and donated  and your corner of the kitchen is clear and simply a kitchen corner again,  suitable for the storage  of dustpans and brushes, dinner trays  and a box of emergency toys and crayons for the kids.   You were my baby  and I loved you  and I could have sworn fifty times today that you had come trotting shyly into the lounge,  seeking a warm lap  or my abandoned grey shawl to hide in.  Our quiet little opportunist.   My heart will miss your sweetness and the contentment of your sunlit dreams.   The

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