… and that’s OK

no-one ever stays the same 

and that’s ok,


we float on rivers

flop over rocks…

 our young women gather

sparkles of silver in their hair and 

waterfalls flow over aging 


the man of granite slopes

into gentle hills  

where little girls pick


rivers weave us 

into glens where 

sparrows knock leaves out of trees

and little boys whose cheeks are

as red as berries

say she is beautiful

oh yeah

isn’t she lovely

look how she 



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