Fifty-Nine
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Fifty-nine is traveling towards sunset. It's still quite light, and hours lie ahead. Fortune still awaits beyond the bend, Time's gift to those by rushing dreams still fed, Yearnings lightly tinged with mixed regrets. No matter. Life remains a flower bed In which the moment lingers without end, Needing, wanting, missing nothing, yet Embracing what must leaves and petals shed. Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
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