My father

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A while ago,

when the grass was still green,

and the lawn was still a blanket of flowers,

we got along.

But as the falls orange leaves,

decided to float down,

he decided to leave mama,

and then we fell apart.

Everyday I went down in the garage,

and out the doors,

to kick leaves,

and sing rock songs.

But I grew-up,

4 became 5,

and 5 became 6,

and I notice his problem.

The bottles that laid around,

and his smell and voice,

The way he didn’t walk,

but he stumbled.

Sometimes I miss him,

and the garage,

and the leaves,

but mostly the grass.

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