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Flowers that grow where old ones have withered serve to remind us that death will one day come to us all.
Arthur GoldenAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: December 6, 1956
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I sit on the couch watching her arrangeher long red hair before my bedroommirror. she pulls her hair up andpiles it on top of her head-she lets her eyes look atmy eyes-then she drops her hair andlets it fall down in front of her face. we go to bed and I hold herspeechlessly from the backmy arm around her neck. I touch her wrists and handsfeel up toher elbowsno further.
Charles Bukowski