Time old healer of wounds
Light that reveals error
Of dreams and fantasy

Maturity bends and reshapes
Life that exists on a foundation
Shaped during immaturity

Love is not fluttery gossamer wings that tickle
At the thought... smell... image
Nor the ears that bend
In anticipation of the sound
Made by feeting moving towards you

It is the motivation that keeps trying
It is the eyes that cry
And the mind that questions

Life is the youth that quickly passes
In false knowledge and confusion
Middle age of dissatisfaction, re-evaluation, and work
Elder age of clarity, time ticking down, and counting out...


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