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Elegy for a Greying Man

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It all began with a simple card game.
A greying man sat with distinguished fame,
opposite of him wiggled a blonde boy;
he had yet to grow, but knew of true joy.

The veteran dealt the cards with graced ease,
looking down at the boy swinging his knees.
The blonde boy clumsily gathered his cards,
fingers shielding them like undeterred guards.

He began to put them in formation,
setting rules for the new game’s creation.
His mind was full of jelly beans and stars,
free from past judgments and unhealed scars.

The old man grumbled like a disturbed bear,
restating rules of the old game with a glare,
his mind filled with past poker victory;
he was soon to be valedictory.

The dogged boy was far from submission,
using the strength of his intuition;
he wouldn’t play by his grandfather’s rules,
again laying down the cards in a new pool.

He aimed for compromise but gained distrust
as the old man swept away the cards like dust.
Outside, while the sunlight set with a pout,
yesterday’s architecture flickered out.



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