Fifty Years of Reflection

3 3 3 Ricardo, they call a

moose body border from a feast never felt too old.

But the years are creeping up now. Lines on his face,

stories untold. The way still call his name, but his bones know it's not

the same. Every day's a little slower, yet he rises to the top

like before. He's chasing moments never found.

The sea as bad as only ground. It's one

Where we are in the same ages of people. The mirrors crack