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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
Ninety-four remains a little
lonely,
Incarcerated in her single room.
Now quieted, now full of empty yearning,
Each aged organ still with passion burning,
To her betimes the body seems a tomb.
Yet life itself is no less lithe and comely.
Friends and loves long past live in her only,
Open as a garden in full bloom.
Upon her, then, a world of wonder turning
Rides undaunted into gathering gloom. |
