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As spellbinding summer turns into the fall,
And the air soon becomes thin, and papery,
You look through the tattered old dreams of the past
The ones you let hang there like drapery.
You wonder sometimes as you bask in the glow,
Of passions that you’ve left behind,
If ever there was any worth in the things,
That cease to be polished and shined.
And folding like fabric, are patches and things,
Of lifetimes and of taking chances,
The florally patterned one, sewn to your heart,
The remnants of lore-like romances.
And after the searching of merriest times,
And after the odd spurt of tears,
You come to the place where nothing it seems,
Is more vulnerable than your fears.
So if you don’t mind every once in a while,
Have a swim in the tumbling, dark, stream,
That so long ago has passed under the bridge,
Or maybe not as long as would seem.


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