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by ddavidd May 31, 2022
I was blank on the apple bough of adolescence,
epitome of youth,
and my hair a stallion
deeper than the colour of night,
dashing on the white canvas of days.
Now I am a widower,
a window of mourning
on the fraught boughs of milestones
with the snow tress
whiter than the colour of days,
on the black texture of night
upon my grieving attires.