Languid time
The gift of languid time.Flowing forever more,
throughout my mind.
Like a trumpet calling,
as if predesigned.
As a river flows,
downwards everytime.
The breeze stirs the trees,
waiting expecting softly crying,
For them to shed there leafs
For this is,
The autumn of my life.
With all the joys it brings,
But really i prefer spring.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
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Written on 2026-09-14 at 00:08
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