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Copyright by
Nicholas Gordon

Thirty-two is like a summer storm
Howling in the heat of windless days:
Impassioned in pursuit of promised treasure,
Raging through fields planted deep with pleasure,
The flood of life unleashed on well-worn ways.
Yet, of course, such tempests are the norm.

There is for now but little listless leisure
When passion is itself of passions shorn,
One pent-up dream in one's ambitious gaze.

Copyright by Nicholas Gordon

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