Collection of peaches

Out of season

I read an article (I skimmed an article) yesterday that said: Too many of us 
make it to the death-bed lament and wail about being someone we’re not.

Later, I listened to a podcast which talked about the lost virtue of mimes
and the art of empty pageantry. Seemed fitting, I think. 
Both in one day.

Then, as I sipped my 3 o’clock tea and hacked a poem, 
I remembered T.S. Eliot, who wisely informed us
the peach has gone out of season.

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A few thoughts on love
Heart-shaped moon in a starry sky

A few thoughts on love

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