We are fleeting reflections in

the stream of air rushing over us.

We hear and feel the song of time;

the metronome counting minutes,

becoming years.

We see our image, the branch of a

greater tree; its roots mark a beginning

of a not so distant past.

There is a failing as we grow; we like

some of our parts while rejecting others.

The strong create foundations, recognizing

fears yet charging forward while many

martyrs fall for lack of success.

Growing old is the merging of trust

and the acceptance of your reflection.

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