Aged Mirrors (100) Poem by Raquel Angel Nagler
Aged Mirrors (100)
Twilight.
Even time grows old.
It is made of slow hours,
Of shadows fatigued as ourselves.
The garden of twilight.
The quiet:
Our ultimate fruit.
It's late in our sadness.
Slowly time climbs down
On the ladder that leads
To our sigh.
---
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
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5/14/2024 11:52:29 AM # 1.0.0.1119
