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The thirties: when dreams crash against the shore,
Hungering to change the littoral.
In time, the lulling rhythms of these surges
Realign the objects of one's urges,
Threatening a fade to pastoral.
Years break like dreams that sing of something more.
Often one forgets the miracle,
Not recalling how delight emerges
Easily, the sweet, sweet days of yore.
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems permission to use
provided by the author. |