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In Blog

On Old Age

Have you and I really tasted

The last of our summer wine?

And are the only years left now

To be spent avoiding the pain of age?

You have seen how it is

With a dowager friend or two we know.

The wrinkled brow you kissed

To make it feel better creaked

With a wildly imagined flu and what not.

When in all the fact

Is sadder than a child’s stillbirth.

The evening’s long now and so

The sap rises, the weather’s fine

But we can’t taste the summer wine.

(P. S. Summer wine is of course a kenning a label substituted physical passion)

-Greta M. Pennington Rana 


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