Dear Friends,

Here lie the dreams we put to rest.

And there, the things we meant to say.
Further on, those bits of faith.

Mindless things, they bore no pain

and easily went to their graves.
It's we who are not quite the same.

(With thanks to the editors at The Hudson Review, who not only nominated this poem for a Pushcart, but also  have selected it for their New Year's card this year). 

i.m. Nathan Carson, Nov 2, 1979 - Aug 11, 2018

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