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Where are the winter snows
the Christmas trees with silver tears
color lights that glow
under golden angel hair
the scent of pine lingering in the air
and cold crisp nights around the radio

who stole my years.
I want to know
and where did the old folks go.
where are the winter snows
the wreath of pine on the side door.
where is the boy of three
why was he left behind
in nineteen forty four

Editing stage: 


It seems amazing to me that something as large as WW2 happened but a few moments ago. How is it we can grow old and not even notice? wesley

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Yes. They were the best of times for me, though. Born in 1942.

author comment

Olden years are cast in gold
like firm memories
they stay for eons
yet seem as fresh ,as the morning dew
then as we recall
a ball of can bursts
we see light anew ,
as we retread over memories past

Recall the Hiroshima twas as if just yesterday
some memories never fade away
till the ultimate day we feel like twas just
a happening of today.
Happy 1942 to you .
many more shall come your way ,
this only Loved can pray and say.


Not many more and that I know
my voice is weak
my eyes have lost their glow
the time is close
but it is my way
to live each day
and I pray that when I go
it will be easy

author comment
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