Thirty-six is an island in a river
Halfway in between two distant
shores.
In childhood, the bank is rich with
flowers,
Receding hills, hot fields, and long,
slow hours,
Thick old trees, wry words, and open
doors.
Yet on the opposite bank white aspens
quiver,
Song birds flit
like gems through windswept bowers,
In distant mountains thunderheads
deliver
X-rays of life's dark, unsculpted
core. Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or
non-commercial use.
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