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When I Come
When I come, I come softly
with a cat-footed tread and
a brush of whiskers. My friend
Sorrow is bitter, but I am
more like the rain -- the rain
that dries rusty on your tongue.
When I come, I come swiftly.
Young men think their days are long,
old men count their last hours.
Time sweeps you off your feet and
just when you think the ground
is solid, you hit the floor and fall.
When I come, I come surely
with arms open to invite you
to hear the last notes fading
and like the tide pulling in, I close
the curtain. Your show is over and I am
the only one who can hear the ovation.
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