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autumn tree lined forest roadSay not in grief that she is no more but say in thankfulness that she was.
A death is not the extinguishing of a light, but the putting out of the lamp because the dawn has come.

 

Sonnet 60 - William Shakespeare

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the florish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand.
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand

Sonnet 60

A different version of this poem is here




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