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May 9, 2005 - A poem about Age

Doldrummer’s Tale.

There is a place
of windless sails and wing-clipped wails.
An airless space of slackened time
like old corroded twine
tethering heartbeats and nobled spirit.
A place where muted calls of fate
becalm the soul embalmed by ancient fronds
of ice-dipped hope that mystify the telescope
on age’s sky - where once white lions
pounced and played and roared
to memories and shores
of a youth that never
could be ours.


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