"petering out"

One stares across the fading yard,
Where autumn gnaws the rusting gate.
The days once raced now stumble hard,
And every hour arrives too late.

The mirror keeps a thinner ghost,
Its silver tongue devoid of grace.
It knows the things one fears to host,
Yet says them with a stranger’s face.

Still somewhere in the evening rain,
A stubborn ember yearns to glow.
Though engines cough and groan with pain,
Some roads refuse to let us go.






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