What am I?
You are of a brass band marching through the town.
You are the smell of a tasty jam doughnut in a picnic basket.
You are the taste of a chocolate bar in a chocolate factory.
You are the memory of my coisin’s guini pig crunching on a apple.
You are the feel of my mummy holding my hand.
You are the sight of a ballerina dancing across the stage.
You are the end
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