The days grow longer, ever so,
And age is looking inward to
Golden times, wondrous places
Filled with sad smiling faces.
The days grow short, as ever,
The deep bargain of "forever"
Not long enough it seems;
Getting old's the death of dreams.
The nights are lonely, always this,
Longing for one last final kiss,
Wishing no one had to die
And never say good bye.
The nights remain quiet, and yet
There are things to not forget,
"Children are our souls", and
Only dreams can make us whole.
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