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THINGS HELD
Holding all
I hold that’s mine
A modern king
The gift’s of time
Allot no grip
Nor means to hold
Today in grasp
Yet drifting old
Begotten days
Become as sand
Slow subtle shift
Crossed barren land
Things held before
Now gone from view
Fast faded they
Like morning dew
Four seasons passed
As if a dream
In winter’s chill
Left wondering
Now looking back
Twas not as planned
For at the end…
I naked stand
