Age
- Rebecca W Morris
- Mar 15, 2017
- 1 min read
I see those deadened synapses
withered with age and despair
And wished that I couldn’t see it there
In that old familiar face
Because I still want to believe
In a wise and aged grace
But I know that it does not deaden all
The crinkled bright button eyes
A weathered body in a young soul
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