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Now, in the afterglow

Which is it: Longing, memory or ache that makes you mute? Must I then speak for you the words you do not dare so that they make the -- how old? -- yesterdays a shimmering new? What is this love that changes yet will last through all the changes from a boy to man? That knows to hold -- but children grow so fast -- and to let go? When was it he began to sing his songs to you? To show the star he claimed as his? And you knew he must go where it would lead? The unknown and the far you tried to sense. Now, in the afterglow of the years' graces, with heart stilled, you pray in your October for his joy in May.

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