In the Autumn of my life,
When the wind of reminiscence blows,
The storm of wistful longing rages.
Frozen moments of the past blow and reel,
Old memories fall on the ground of my heart
From boughs of my mind: pale, blur and forsaken,
Discoloured and decayed, dry and broken,
Raked into a medley of fallen stars.
I pick them up.
They rustle and finally crumble
With my delicate touch,
Leaving specks of dust on the fingers of time.
Swirling mists surround me.
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