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Jul 2016
Just as it becomes too much
It becomes nothing at all.
And one is left with autumn leaves
That gather where they fall.
I thought that I had moved your heart
But you saw me shifting dust.
I had a diamond in my hand
How I fidgeted and fussed.
Now I stand on bended knees amongst
The proof of parties past
And know the glitter on my hands
Will never, ever last.
Richard Wishart
Written by
Richard Wishart
197
   PoetryJournal
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