Standing in a slant of sunlight,
silver glinting specks of dust,
fingering the links of the chain
about her neck and gazing, not
seeing, into the blur of greenery,
her garden. She knows part of
her life has slipped her; not beyond
sensing, but beyond experiencing.
She knows it was hers: some lost
opportunity, something lost from
her own realisation. And it is lost.
Now she must step out of her reverie,
return to her lesser self, trimmed
but, somehow, wiser.
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