Twelve Lines of Rime
o youth,where did you go
those yesterdays,still glow
pure white,as virgin snow-
whose face is this I see,
is this really me;
where,where did youth flee-
inside,still seems bran new
my youthful outlook,stays
albeit,passing days-
a future lies ahead
beyond the grave,He said
the narrow path,to tread
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2023
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