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How
lightly and how prettily they touch upon our little lives,
like
dandelion seeds on grass, like Eos’ toes on empty air!
They
float along and laugh with us, they call us by our old nicknames,
they
twinkle, beg a cigarette, and tease us. We don’t realize--
though
well we know they’re light and bright, and insubstantial as a breeze--
how
brief their life, how thin their breadth, and just as quickly as they came,
they
vanish. In what emptiness comes subsequent, we blink back tears
and
snatch at shadows, grasping only pain, bereavement and despair.
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