Nothing much left to say. When you're very much old and grey. Wrinkled skin and powered glass. Abandoned by the favored mass. Memories of the bygone days. Treasured in a glittering phase. Along with tears, a drop or two. All in blurry and fading hue. Await kind words and a smile. With gratitude more and concern while. Nothing to expect, just to flow. Time to bid adieu although. Last days be a gracious one. Crucial help from self but none. More of comfort and less surmise. Let the end be a prompt surprise. © Anindita Mazumdar (Honorable Mention Female Poet)

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