Dead are those days,
the shimmering nights, the shadowy lays,
Dim isn't thine halo, like the setting Sun,
But lack no luster from me heart,
For this shall beat and shall live where thee art.......
Poetic Injustice --- The myriad me, in myriad ways,
and myriad words, in myriad lays.
To stay, to sway, to the new glory,
to my past allay....
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