By David Calvert

Angled to the winter sun, his weathered face looked gaunt and grey As marble-like he stood, his thin, worn belt girdling the tattered Raincoat, drawing it close to his weary figure. And the child within him cried as in silent review he paused - the stranger On the shore - his mind awash with far off memories he had long thought Forgot. Oh that he could cast off the now cold prison of ageing mortality and Soar in joyous liberty, unleashing once more the fiery exuberance of Youth that time would fain deny him And the fettered child within mourned the loss of those halcyon days, When thought and deed were of accord and time’s fearful dread did not Impose.

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