The years

The years did huddle closely,
the future misted clear,
and in the tread of time
and fate; my destiny revealed.
The days long gone did gather,
like pleated bits of life,
arrayed in circled spreading;
a skirt of deep disguise.
Shadows thrown through hours,
minutes dusted fine,
from birth to death eternal;
the gifts of heart and mind.
With loosened thread of being,
the garment still did hold,
and danced in futured softening;
the realms of growing old.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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