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The Question of Those Days

By Bill Connolly

What are we to say of those days of summer,

Years of summers ago when we were young –

What of the earliest leaves of autumn filched by the wind

Or the bankrupt skies and the sense of loss before anything

was lost?

What of those faces smiling out of memory’s essential mirage

Or memory itself, randomly glowing with lamps, with ghosts?

What of life itself and the living illusion of life

And memory and life – and life in its days of unyielding

oncoming?

And what of the use of them all – wind, leaves, faces, loss –

What do we say when memory itself is unremembered?

BILL CONNOLLY, a native of the Buffalo area, now lives and writes in Hampton, Va., where he works as contract supervisor for the U.S. Air Force.