This is a poem I disagree with, but it is a perfect little machine of a poem. Nature's first green is gold / Her hardest hue to hold..." It is hard not to memorize it once you hear of it.
It is true that nothing gold can stay, but I still don't like the way the poem cuts off possibilities. Pretty much my 50s have been my best decade so far.
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But dawn returns from day each morning and seasons come again.
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