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By Kern F. Little
walked past
old man
huddled in
corner
winter day
years of
neglect
layers of
filth
sad picture
portrayed
his bloodshot
blue eyes
met mine
he asked
cracking whisper
let me borrow
a dream just
for a day
reached for
photo of family
friends at play
handing it away
holding it he
smiled, sat, gasped
and fell dead away
guess the dream
was all he needed
to go on his way
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