I’m buckling down for the long haul
laying in the supplies again
measuring my life by how much there may be left to live,
how many more times I might see the daffodils
the buds, the weak green of early spring.
I’m buckling down for the long haul
laying in the supplies again
measuring my life by how much there may be left to live,
how many more times I might see the daffodils
the buds, the weak green of early spring.
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