Almost

Every day of living
Is a dying, like the setting
Of the tangy tangerine sun,
The flesh rails and fails
Symphonies begin, run, pale.
No heart
Remains untainted by the stain
Of Spring’s laughing showers,
Fall’s fading from existence,
We try to find our meaning
In a word, line, stanza.
Nothing is
The reason to continue
When the hollow halls
Never echo, allow glory,
So the poet and singer
Stop trying to persuade.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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