Friday, September 23, 2011


What I like about the past
Is that it is done with
It can be put away
Unless someone distorts it
When I look back,
Yesterday's hurts
Hardly hurt
The little triumphs
May never have happened
It is good to see
That the comparisons
That once rankled
Hardly matter anymore
The one who played much better
And was greeted everywhere
Scarcely recalls those days
Now that he hobbles along
With a walking stick
Those who carry
Their possessions
Wherever they go
Can shed neither
Their past nor their present.

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