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Sep 2022
as golden red leaves fall
and the trees stand bare and stall
when winter grows near
and July is only a memory
that can't fly or fill his sensory
when frost kills the grass
the light quick to pass
darkness hangs in the air
she fills out like an eclair
when her face isn't a rose
in its place wrinkles grow
belly soft and feet are swollen
her youth silently stolen
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  56/F
(56/F)   
132
 
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