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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #1274226
A poem of the mortal desire to remain somehow.
Do not forget us where we stir
Do not forget our gentle mirth
As leaves turn to ash and then into December
We are slowly learning that we do not live forever
As we are softly pummeled into our graves
Which our own mortality does forever save.

© Copyright 2007 John Smith (joeymoon at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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