As I grow old, and weaker grow my eyes
As I grow old, and weaker grow my eyes,
returning yellows and changing greens
I barely recognize.
Falling petals float and dance
in dangling spider webs:
and I see them mistakenly as flying butterflies.
returning yellows and changing greens
I barely recognize.
Falling petals float and dance
in dangling spider webs:
and I see them mistakenly as flying butterflies.
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