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About This Poem
Our Days Are As Sand
Life, an hourglass,
Where days are sand.
God holds each grain,
In outstretched hand.
We strive to adapt,
To life's ebb and flow.
And each falling grain,
Causes gait to slow.
Often, during aging,
Time is rutting our face.
Even pigment in our hair,
Time will replace.
Such will be life,
Till our last grain falls.
That day cometh,
When the Sand Master calls.
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