The Young Man Inside

My hair is touched with streaks of gray.
My face is etched by time.
I've recently drunk from the fountain of age.
I know I've passed my prime.


My thoughts are the thoughts of the young man
who hides in the depths of my mind.
I imagine that Iím still that young man,
and it's always so pleasing to find

that my partner who's looking from memory
sees that same unlined face in her view,
and to my great surprise, I now realize
she looks just like a girl I once knew.

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Pair of Aged Hands

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