Saturday, 10 November 2012

In the Passing of Time

I don't recall not being here
without a road to walk upon
nor do I wish being there again 
or forever moving on

For awhile I’m lingering 
and thinking what I feel
imagining and dreaming 
what is living what is real

How wonderful those early days
when play was ecstasy
accepting that I knew my place
amongst my friends and family

When all my sand has trickled
to the all but final grain
I trust the clues I leave behind
were not written down in vain

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