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Rated: E · Poetry · Biographical · #2241594
Thoughts on Turning 79
Tumbleweed

Impossible, so many years spinning my wheels.
Yet the only marks I leave behind
are long dried and cracked footprints
in the clay soil of my soul.
Not much grows in the hardpan,
except for stones.
Rocks that are much too soft
to be built with.
No multi-story buildings there--
just a crumbled, old abandoned hut.
I feel very old,
a dry tumbleweed rolling toward the end,
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