GraySlowLow — Nostalgia

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Once was the time of my sureness.

That time is not now.  Not today anyway.

I feel nor silver nor wise,

But grayslow and low.

My swift mind,

My fleet foot

Upped and away,

Left me uncertain, shaky stepping.

The sidewalks grew so wide,

So full of dips and cracks.

The ways of the world grew odd

And I forgot the tricks

To bend it to my will

As once I knew — when lucky sure

I quick stepped ‘round

Certain as a filly on the track.

Or when I was master weaver

And shuttle shot the days

Rack-rack through my loom,

And I was master weaver

Of all the months and years.

Master keeper of the clock tick.

 

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RRC
June 2015