Sweet and Sour Pickles

There was a time when pleasure came on the tip of a tongue. When fear fled and the senses did indulge. Though visions dim and sound distorts, dismays… the tang of sweet and sour stay abides within the aged form in figureless grace. Released are we aged crones and cronies no longer the baited traps, the pollen for the laden prongs of progeny.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

Poem

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Grisetti Avatar
September 18, 2012 at 11:31 AM
Love this new perspective on growing older. Well formed poem.
Horne Avatar
September 18, 2012 at 8:49 AM
lovely write, Debs - congrats on all your wins : ) and a very happy birthday for tomorrow xx - will try to think of something for the contest
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