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1 min read poem

The Passage of Time

For each and every day, there is but a minimum price to pay For our youth, freedom and prosperity are but melting away.
The Passage of Time

 

For each and every day, there is but a minimum price to pay

For our youth, freedom and prosperity are but melting away.

Ebbing, flowing, tomorrow we play, but don't you understand? There is only TODAY!

Tomorrow won't come, because Heaven you may placate.

Don't rest on your Laurels, or Hardy may prey.

Patrick O'Neal.

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