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At This Age (50 To 60)
everything becomes
merely nothing
but reminiscences
nothing efflorescent
or even fluvial
once there was a boy
rising from rags to riches
once there was a girl
who became the wife of the president
once there was a love so true
it brought nothing but sadness
once there was a home
splintered like a grenade
once there were beautiful times
fading like sunset.
poem
by
Ric S. Bastasa
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