Joined: Thu Oct 15, 2009 10:26 am Posts: 21
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As the drop to Winter steepens And shadows lengthen at midday So unspoken terror deepens Suffocates in shades of grey
The declining year does metaphor For the fast approaching end of life He stares out blankly and remembers The happy decades with his wife
Never one to think of heaven He knows this life is all there is Now at the age of sixty-seven It’s almost done – he has had his
But come the Spring the sap will rise The will to live comes with the sun The sweet companion of blue skies - He knows his course is not yet run
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