She's an old lady now
Who gazes out of the window
Counting the birds that fly by
Dreaming of the buttercups of youth
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Now I'm crying, the whole poem which reads like a love story is eloquent but you know me, and when I got to the last line, oh my, how many of us have lost or are still looking for or let go of that kind of love....You don't have to be hold and loose it through progression of time, 'ye can be young at heart and dying f''er your 'errs. Those old cards and letters from long ago, not yellow yet, but know they will be one day......This is heart wrenching beautiful to me.
Utterly engaging, timeless, tear-jerking. And 'will-that-be-me' thoughts-provoking.... t x