Fog not only comes on little cat feet, it rolls around in the memories inside our brain,
We can barely see the glimmer of springs or glorious summer days in the past,
Photos only document but do nothing else
The written word can recall glory days
We were all young once and oh so brave,
Courage has been relegated to a glint
Joy is certainly an individual process
a glance, a mesmerizing color, swing and nod,
In tune with a non-existent song,
A flower, brilliant sunshine , smelly soil,
The post-it notes of God
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