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Old dream

The globe gets
Smaller as
Time thus flies…

The mountains
That were high
Shrinks in eyes

The River
Still remains
Deep as ever

Avant garde
Are worsen
Day by day…

Lovers of
The old meals
The old clothes

The old songs
Tradition
We embrace

As we age,
On life’s stage…
Our eyes close

Our dream shows,
Sweet memoir,
Of our past

With honor
One color,
Black and white

Agility
Gradually
Starts to drop.

But fulfilled
Low or hills
The old dream

All the faces
We have seen
Starts to pop.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

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