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To tell the truth, I cannot tell your age,
However many signs you see within;
Internally, the clock is more precise,
Rendering gradations far more nice
Than those that are perceptible on skin.
Years modify one's views more than one's cage.
Now, for you, new melodies begin
In a landscape lightly shadowed. New gardens assuage
New sorrows, and peace comes on like rain. You spin
Earth-wise in your dance towards paradise.
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
