She'd been depressed at seeing how her parents had aged in just a couple of years. She hadn't really contemplated time much before, it had seemed an endless resource.
Seeing her lying listlessly in bed, he asked 'Are you ok? '
'I'm getting old, ' she admitted, closing her eyes to conserve energy.
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The poem flows out in its own, mystical rhythm. Easy to understand, readily perceptible to the feelings.