The senses, when struck with just the right trigger
Synapses, flare up revealing quite the nostalgic picture
At once, thrown into that space, back to that time, doomed to repeat those same juvenile mistakes
Reliving all that Emotion, that you thought was gone, or had been carelessly misplaced
The crisp autumn air mingling with the fresh smell of new death, what a wonderful taste
Though, it ought well be ashes, for what later took place
Oh, Sweet Summer Child, if you only knew the Stakes
J Snow, of "What's Left?" 