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When We're GoneTime flies upon the ancient silvery wings of time, every memory gets lost upon the face of the pale moon, each picture of joy and happiness becomes pasted upon the pages of an old worn out photo album, and the portrait of ones life is painted upon the colorful canvas of the masters, leaving a wonderful preciously jeweled mosaic for others to see when we are gone. Donavon Scott Vinson Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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