How old was I
when I first discovered
this thing I was doing was living, and
it would have an end?
...
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Loved the poem, Smoky. At first I thought you were going to talk about the dark spots on my hands...
An unfortunate fact is that dark spot. All the more reason to enjoy every second of light. Marvelous poem, Smoky
Smoky-one never feels old til they lose their dad and they ever feel young again.Those dark spots are more noticed from then on.This poem probes the essence of our being Death is the final escape and then what