Getting Old

Poem By teri bronte

Who is the man with little grey hair
Who is the man, wearing away and nobody cares
Who is the man with very bad eyes
Who is the man who gives out sighs
Who is the man with very bad ears
Who is the man whose been forgotten over the years

Who Is this man, it can't be me
I'm only the inside not the part you see
Who is this man whose afraid to die
Who is this man whose trying hard not to cry

Who Is this man, now I know who
It is me and may become you
For some this story will come true
But don't be sad if it happens to you
Remember all your life, until, you depart
Beauty is not in the skin, it's in the heart

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The after glow may stay to put us both to sleep and a smile on our faces and warmth running through our bodies like a river down a hill, so smooth and ever changing.


I am me,
a mother, a woman, a person of idea's.
I am the daughter of her and him.
A lover of art's of music and books.

His Touch

His touch let's me know im wanted..
His touch leads me further to my destiny..
My head bow's as my knee's bend to His touch..
My will is given to Him to guide me to what i can only imagine will be wonderful as His touch.

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The name's are different.
The sweet talk is different.
The looks are different.
The age's are different.

The Dominant Male

Oh this man of order's and dismay; with the strenght and no
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He struts his stuff and beats his chest, He barks and howls at
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