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A chapped lipped crusty old man looked at me and grabbed my hand.
He cracked a smile into grains of sand
And licked hidden lips as his snotty nose ran.
His clothes were torn and smelled of trash,
Thick flies clustered his lice trimmed thick mustache.
His skin was too dirty to tell his race.
He had scars and open sores that decorated his face,
And his eyes glistened green as if he were in a daze.
He fed me wisdom not of a silver spoon,
My brain was full; my conscience had no more room
To think or comprehend to heal or to mend,
the stitches of wisdom which leaked from this pen;
Persons, places, and things not known to the common noun.
He taught me how to argue with out making a sound.
And my eyes like the dew drops fresh from the roses dripped,
Because I just witnessed life, no longer it lives