By Frank Horne

To be forever young
and ride like a tipsy Triton
on the crest of a wave
that is just forever breaking. . . .
Days—an eternal dawning
heralded with the fanfare of sun,
Nights—a blaze of glory
the swishing tail of a comet,
Life—an infinite loving
Sweeping to the peak of anticipation
Trembling breathlessly at the brink of realization. . . .

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