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Your time has come at last

sides no longer hold fast

and laces began to fray

so long ago, I couldn’t say

with certainty. But I know

it may have started to show

around the time my first dog

passed away.

Your soul has been busted

so bad you can’t be trusted

to keep the soggy puddles

from soaking in. It muddles

my steps, flapping and cracking

so energy sapping and lacking

in grace. Yet you led me through roots

of cobblestones and cathedrals.

There you’ll sit on the floor,

cause I daren’t do more.

And you don’t seem to fit in the trash.

 

 

 

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