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Dec 2017
Living is repetition in the flesh and in the bones,
The season of growth ending with the forest newly combed.

Repeated days of dry not dry then wet,
The fields knowing the dark to come drawing breath.

Fog laying over the hills like lovers' arms in bed.
Frost paving our dreams, carpets of spider webs.

It is what it is and I am happy to feel the bite
Of the wind's teeth on my cheek as I age into night.

It will be what it wants to be this Life as it spins,
It will be everything and then it will be nothing -

But what goes on into my future only this I know,
What goes on of me after my Life, is not flesh but bones.
Tommy Randell
Written by
Tommy Randell  67/M/Whitby, N Yorks, UK
(67/M/Whitby, N Yorks, UK)   
1.6k
   Madison the Bean
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