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Every window has it,
a hidden tale,
whispers of the times,
an echo that has lived.
The breeze brings back memories,
the leaves tell stories,
glances of those men,
forgers of memories.
Or will, in its future,
painting dreams as it passes,
each frame a universe,
each glass a home.
Every window has it,
the life that unfolds,
and so, on our path,
our history is integrated.