To dwindle yet remain
is our destiny perchance
up till the seventh plane
it is all a fine romance
we brew tea & we try
to accomplish this or that
understated yet wry
maybe sums up where we're at
as days & weeks unfold
there's a tinge of autumn now
while neither young nor old
there's a wrinkle on the brow
perhaps we're more or less
interfused with happiness
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