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Through tepid air, neither summer nor fall
the wind roams the oaks without direction.
On a busy town’s street, in front of the oak
Stands a person with the utmost affection.
I remember the swaying trees, 
Almost stooping to the ground
Adorning yellow rays of delight.
The first comes a woman, with a purse in hand
Her pinky still coiled from the kept-up promises 
and her hair way up, curled in style.
I just returned from school and there she was
Waiting to cuddle me and play the piano with me.
I watch as her little hands skip across the ivory keys
And smile as her old hands lead mine into melody
She told my Grandfather that day, she felt a little woozy.
Little did I know it would be her last day.
The corner of our rickety wooden home is filled with memories
Her kind voice will ring in the ears of loved ones through generations
The rocking chair in the den will bring sweet comfort in times of sorrow.
I stare at the window, with a vacant, desolate stare,
eyes full of broken tears and unwanted despair.
A teardrop nestles in the corner of my dull, brown eyes,
and I hope that she knows that I will love her till the day I die.


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