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Pray, tell me what blossoms gather at my feet,

And of the incense which hangs upon the bough.

My eyes are less keen,

For I am old now.


Come, take my hand and with me walk through this land,

And tell me of deeds which once were disallowed.

My legs are weakened,

For I am old now.


Come, tell me in my ear, tell me news of late.

Is all as once it was, or is all disavowed?

My hearing is dull,

For I am old now.


Come, relate once again, the days of my life,

As I sit and contemplate my youth and thou.

My heart is heavy,

For I am old now.


Now, lay me upon this bed of softest down,

I feel the hands of Angels comfort my cold brow,

I am renew├Ęd,

For I am young now.


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Hamish McGee
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