Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
The golden apples of the sun.
W.B. Yeats
It's good to be alive and hear this man play and sing this poetry and think these thoughts.
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