Meeting an Old Acquaintance
Each time I comb my white locks, cause for new grief;
each blackening of moth eyebrows, less of your old beauty.
Onlookers must wonder at all our sighs and exclamations—
young when we parted, we meet again, now old.
each blackening of moth eyebrows, less of your old beauty.
Onlookers must wonder at all our sighs and exclamations—
young when we parted, we meet again, now old.
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