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There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
Are you afraid of getting old?
Do you lie about your age when you're ask 'how old are you?'
What do you think life will be like when you reach 64?
Here, the wise old Ass of the Backpage of the Nepali Times (who @filauzio
have encountered before) gives some useful tips on aging gracefully.
I particularly love the comment on how 'In vogue these days are fluorescent green boxer shorts that glow in the dark, which is specially useful when there is load-shedding.' Very topical considering @Bubbly
's interesting new topic on powercuts. Maybe this is a solution to blackouts @aladdin