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Hankerings.
Winds drift us distant from the past,
Gentle, warm breezes, implacable gales
But nothing ever can really last,
Against what has gone, the future pales
Our closest link to what lies behind-
Memories clogged as time eased by-
Is simply-now- the present kind.
No earthly reason to question why.
Too late to rebel against the mould,
Waste not a jot in angry protest,
As lonesome decades fleetly unfold
Let life be respected for being as blessed.
Rob Farley