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Gone.

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Me and my dad used to fish,
and I used to wish,
that we could stay there forever.
But wishes aren’t always granted.

I grew older and suddenly I was twelve.
My dad also grew older,
but he became very sick.
I begged mother to tell me how long he had left.
As she spoke,
I felt the tears pour down my cheeks,
like syrup down the pancakes he used to make,
like the sweat that dripped down his face,
after a long hard day at work.

She told me.
The dad I loved so,
the dad that made me pancakes,
the dad that worked long and hard for us.
Had one month to live.






The next day we went to the lake
The same lake we fished on so long ago,
and I wished for dad not to die.
I wished that he was never sick

But as I said before,
wishes aren’t always granted





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