About a dozen dead Daisies
lie beneath my feet
and I feel no pain.
One cries for want of love
And I pass passively.
The gardens fade
and lose their power.
The path becomes a means to an end.
Objective: To proceed with purpose!
But laughter in the background
Dominates,
Reigns.
Sadly I see the aging process,
The draining of a youthful heart.
Shortcuts taken,
Still time wasted,
Ringing with the song of life.
The song of life is nothing
more that nothing.
And a child smiles.
ZCMI 1967
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