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The pure achievement of the aging mind  
is transient joy, released from cares of time.  
The clock of life one no more needs to wind,  
the finest hour is here with every chime.  
Each sense reports the commonest of things  
as deep delight; because ephemeral.  
The sand, a star, a tree, the fire, each brings  
a sharp, ecstatic, heightened, taste of all  
that makes this lovely world the magic place  
where man is one with everything around.  

Thus, free of past and future, feels with grace  
the wondrous human secret he has found.   
The best of all could be the final breath;  
entrancing union with the sigh of death.  
[from the Desert of my Heart and Mind by F.J.A.Pockley 1912-1990]