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Copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
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How have the years so
suddenly gone by?
As though we were distracted on a train,
Perhaps absorbed in fantasy, terrain
Passing shuttered from the inner eye.
Yet when the train stops, shuddering through each car
--
Holiday or birthday, wedding, wake --
Old enough to feel time's wistful ache,
Looking up, we wonder where we are.
In time, we see the need for celebration;
Days unmarked are lost within the flow.
A journey needs its moment in the station,
Yielding motion to restored relation,
So fleeting one is loath to let it
go.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
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