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About This Poem
aged
what tales lie behind wrinkled eyes
sagging corners tired
with life
what dance has
the crooked back danced
angled with experience
blissful and dark
many leathered hands stroked
hair wiry gray
aged by this journey
scratchy laughter remains
of this wrinkled tangible existence
yet the infinite spirit
imprints burden of proof
in the shiny new succession
of childrens giggles
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