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Rated: E · Prose · Death · #1699486
Old man making peace with wifes death. 208 words
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Ages have past but beauty remains
Brisk walks have become slow strolls
The spring flowers have withered
The December chill has whisked in

I never want to run back in time
Proud to have mastered the years
When grey clouds roll in
The rain may wash us away

I won't be sad for what is lost
Crying is no longer in our nature
Six feet may separate our bodies
But ours souls will again meet in heaven

When I wake in your arms on the other side
You will take my hand
And I will take yours
Together again, we will take a stroll

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