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February 25, 2005 - A poem about Age

O ‘ Women of a Certain Age.

Bear the ills of weary world,
Know the creep of quiet rage,
Feel the smudge of youth to old,
And smooth the grain of age.
Carry high past ways of youth,
Raise smile-worn weathered flag,
To shoulderhold the uncouth gale,
And navigate the rocky crags.
Know well this turn of time -
Hold each minute like a tiny jewel.
Begin again the spring and wind,
Then win prize of age’s tired duel.


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