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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