Philosophical

Philosophical

Swirl of dry leaves
in the sharp breeze
—these though once
fresh and green
will soon be dust

I think of all the years
that have fallen
by the wayside
years of my youth

the years of famine
the years of plenty
that have led me
to where I am today

Time is a piece of string
who knows how long :
all I have is what I have
in my hands and who
I have in my heart
I need no more

John Lyons

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