there really is nothing
left to say.
no memory worth remembering.
that life
is so far in the rear
view mirror.
the odometer has spun
over
and over
again
going back to zero.
there is song unsung.
no poem written,
or book unread to explain it
all.
nothing needed left behind.
there's just the clear
meadow.
the blue sky.
the fresh wind of spring,
it's life
of a different
kind.
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