His past
His past is now a foreign country
Where names and dates dissolve
In the desert of a mind where once
Clear water flowed and camels sported
In the green oasis of his youth.
He shall not mourn these memories
Like children dying in their prime
But celebrate the happy times
And marvel at the things achieved
The daily humble miracle.
The jobs kept down the children reared
The friendships made the life he led
The commitment and the loyalty
Remembered in the sculptors words
Cut into granite of the galaxy.
While memories melt and colors-drain
On an easel now a friend of pain
Half memories light the longer nights
A private world that few can share
Where thanks and joy alone remain.
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