In a dream you are never eighty.
Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.
Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
When I lie down to love, old dwarf heart shakes her head. Like an imbecile she was born old.
Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out.
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