Septuagenarian
Never one to rest in the arm chair of age
I wander around the verses in my head
that have collected in the cobwebs
of the money spiders of youth
and in all truth I tire not one jot
of scaling the pinnacles there
where I find the constellations of stars
that fired the bonfires of vanity of youth
hushed in the avalanches of Christmases
past that stole me from sidewalk window-
shopping and bookmarked me with the
dust cover of the latest volume of my life
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