This old woman’s body,
With bones and hair
Thinning, with
Stones forming, and
Mind going, still
Pulses with an
Undeniable energy.
A bag of sand,
Punctured at the bottom,
Still retains a few grains
Even when the flow
Grows slow.
Can these few grains of
Life sustain this
Caricature of the
Me I know?
Or should I
Simply
Let them go?
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