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What has passed

The leaves are turning now Away back home Nights are drawing in Wood fires lit Against late evening cool Mists in early noon Rolling over stubbled fields From river turgid, slow With a thousand remembrances Yet here I am Tied to the past With pale recollections To keep me sound In this strange land Of heat and dust and toil KeptĀ  in motion By unresolved yearnings To return To what I was 05/09/2009
Published inAutumnMemoryPoemRemembrance

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