We were young once…
“We poets in our youth begin with gladness; But there off in the end despondency and madness.” Wordsworth
“Soldiers rest! Thy warfare o’er, Dream of fighting fields no more: sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, morn of toil, nor nights of waking.” Sir Walter Scott
“Easy life and quiet death.” Sir Walter Scott
Old Poet sat by Lake St. Clair and he wrote. My old debts are not due now. They are just forgotten promises made. I remember beautiful faces, beautiful places. I loved and they are not forgotten.
Now the old poet have his Lake St. Clair and his bleeding words. Dead memories deeply engraved into his skin and his broken heart.
The lake is near him now. She is dancing for him. The Autumn storms making the waves alive and beautiful. He found the Lake St. Clair with different eyes now. He had…
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