where congregate the thickening and the slackening and the limping.
Some faces grown grotesque with age,
and some the roofless walled ruins of a slipped-away handsomeness,
a surviving cornice, ornate but crumbling, and a grand mantle,
chipped now, but hinting at what once had been.
White hair expensively cut and shaped and blouses flashing brilliantly,
and bodies preceeded into a room by a vast bosom or swelling belly,
and followed by a big derrier that would crush the life out of a small dog
if accidentally placed upon it.
People of years are here,
shrewd brains at work behind the wrinkles and the eyes struggling to see;
great mountains of experiences, of sadnesses, losses, laughing, successes and failures
and days and nights gone by in the twinkling of an eye
and they were young
and all their life ahead lay hidden in the clouds on the mountains tops
where now they sit
and stare, sometimes, into everlasting night.
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