Maya Angelou Poem

In Retrospect

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Last year changed its seasons
subtly, stripped its sultry winds
for the reds of dying leaves,
let gelid drips of winter ice melt onto
a warming earth and urged the dormant
bulbs to brave the
pain of spring.

We, loving, above the whim of
time, did not notice.
Alone. I remember now.

Just Like Job
On Aging

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