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Distant Memories
A silent fog drifts up to swallow hills
and vales, no wind comes up to banish him
so he encroaches all that takes his whim,
plants question-marks, a sight that burns and kills.

He takes away so many normal skills
as cups, filled up, but not above the rim,
how to get angry, tunnel eyes grow dim,
he pays again and daily mount the bills.

Today was quite good, he recognized me
saw studs in my ears and remarked how fair
my mane would look on my sisters, maybe

tomorrow he`s absent, a vacant stare
is all that I get, now the last time I see
my grandpa with two cents advice to share.
Never sigh for a better world it`s already composed, played and told

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