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Rated: · Poetry · Other · #1676848
HOW I FOUND LIFE
The train I join moves not slowly
Like a bird of passage it passed
The first station of my teenage time.
At the second station grey scrawls
Slowly spreading white on my black shining hair,
My youth to old age it submitted
Giving it means to deface me.
To the final station the train is heading
I therefore have to get ready because
My army: old age will surely surrender
And leave me captured by the burial mat 
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