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The Hands Of Time

Though we walk on the surface of rocks and sand
Ever we melt back into this ancient land
     from the harsh winds and burning sun
And hurtful pains that forever run into a page in the past
Though we honor ancient heroes...we know mortal man won't last
We see the flowers bloom and then die
The changing seasons honor the sky in bold colors
though we are of different hue, we're all brothers
We break apart like brittle sand,
and merge again as one with the land

copyrights 2007
Robert Anthony James

 


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The Hands Of Time