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30

Thirty - it’s not a great number. There’s forty; everybody loves forty - life begins and man finds love in forty. Thirty? Ahh, who knows a famous thirty? No sporty sports a thirty on his jersey; or even thinks it when the whistle blows. Thirty! I bet there’s something special to it, yeah. It is payday thirty… Yes, but after the check and cash outs, it’s forgotten. Lame thirty. Lame thirty. So why be afraid of thirty?! Dunno. Maybe it is the number before it: 29. You can look at February, need I explain it here? No. When you experience divergence, like Mr. Frost, you’ll choose. Left or right. Here or there. This or that. Decisions, decisions. If you’re twenty nine, it’s easy. You don’t think ahead like you care. But if you’re Robert, then you have to think first; which makes it even worse… …so you write about it - and end up rethinking it thirty times even or more.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010




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Date: 3/21/2016 9:39:00 PM
this is a great poem, Rory. LINDA
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Book: Shattered Sighs