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Nicholas Gordon
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Seventy-two is lucky to be alive.
Each day's a gift, although he knows no giver.
Very grateful to whatever might
Elect to keep him at the edge of night,
Now, this day, again he would endeavor
To get the beauty of the moment right,
Yearning with the joy of those who strive.
Take from him what grace he might deliver,
Whatever words might seem a source of light,
Of which a few he dares hope might survive.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
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