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Rated: E · Poetry · Community · #2313976
My old red bean bag chair
In my room, a beanbag chair once stood,
A giant among furniture, a throne of good.
Its presence vast, filling every space,
A refuge for comfort, a cozy place.

But the room felt crowded, with its size so grand,
So I gifted it to John, with an outstretched hand.
To fill his space with warmth and cheer,
A Warm comfy place, for his rear.

Together we sat, sharing dreams and fears,
Inhaling life’s moments, through laughter and tears.
Upon that chair, we found solace and peace,
As the smoke swirled around, our worries did cease.

But now it’s his, the chair’s new home,
A throne of comfort, where memories roam.
Though it’s no longer mine, its spirit remains,
A symbol of friendship, amidst life’s gains and pains.

So here’s to the beanbag, and to John so dear,
May they both find comfort, in memories clear.
For though it’s gone, our bond’s still strong,
In every empty space, his spirit belongs.
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