Lori Witzel's pictures, poems and other souvenirs and artifacts.
The ages of human kind in a rose bush: youth/that middle age whose extent lengthens as we age/the withering end. But where are the thorns?
Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Lori
Always reminds me of mom... sigh.
I'd say the blush is definitely off the rose here.Goodbye summer...
An important message for crones of all genders.Maybe this one should go in your greatest hits album ?
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