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The Musing of Men
Yellow leaves, dropping into easy piles…
until the wind blows, scattering
what’s left of my summer dreams.
And the yellow brick road, where did you go…
I have traveled far, arriving
once again at your threshold.
These decades, piling up in the corner…
waiting to be washed, folded and
put away. We have ten between us.
The musing of men grows quiet in the face of a queen,
Whose love is a gift greater than any I have ever seen.
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