Age Poem by Andrew Nawroski
Age
Whatever became to dishevel then make crooked a spine,
and become to weak knee’d to measure a mile.
For if you could sing hearts would chime
and still make it a worldly trial.
So much to tell of how so free,
asks nothing then everything given.
For when old new it be,
is toward a grave still driven.
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4/22/2024 3:51:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Interestingly abstract. Each little code is a treasure of its own. Nice work. Keep it up! -SJD