Loneliness.
The desolation of the room,
The standstill Summer's sweat,
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Very rightly and idiomatically the truth of old age is put across when our past is fossilised and nobody around us likes to spare a thought or two for us. Thanks. I quote a few lines: Stare oblique irony at your unimportance, You feel the beguiles of mirage with no oasis.
Yes, -the vacation of mundane pilgrimage is seen with yellow leaves