PAST DUE
My spirit, soaring through the dreams of children
and the passion of music,
rests in a decaying shell
yearning for youthful energy—
the body, in biting discord,
eats away at itself
while the soul dances to the harmony
of impertinent cherubs.
How long can this body be carried
by the fragile wisps of wind
singing through the pines ?
Beth Good--1997
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