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The Last Letter


I watch you smile in insouciance
While I count the number of days.
You, my child, have grown up in unneeded haste;
While I was left back, like the last leaf
Dangling from the tree older than you and me.
Never did I notice when
You had released my finger;
I was too engrossed in the Elysian beauty
Of your first walk, on the tender grass bed.
Ours is the richest form of consanguinity,
That I hope, son, you still remember.
You may need me again someday, I know.
But today, laugh with me my child.
Live with me the numbered life I cling to.
I'm growing old and weary like time
And I might not answer you son,
The next time, if at all, you cry out for me.
 

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