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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
Ninety-two sits quaintly in a
garden,
Intent on living through the awesome day.
No sunshine is direct, but through the trees
Enough is dappled in the gentle breeze
To sing of glory in a muted way.
Yet time itself can sometimes be a burden.
The hours sway like dancers, slow and
wanton,
While thoughts flit through the roses as they please,
Open-armed and lithe yet loathe to stay. |
