To which my age - 74 years - the road is fraught with irreparable absence, disqualification tragic, flowers faded, memories confused, hopeless pain, of miss devouring futures unlikely.
So we look at the buds ready to burst, flowers that last cold calls for caution, still closed, live singing waters, skies full of cheerful migrant birds flying sumptuous, and, quietly, it provides the missing.
So we look at the buds ready to burst, flowers that last cold calls for caution, still closed, live singing waters, skies full of cheerful migrant birds flying sumptuous, and, quietly, it provides the missing.
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