he played chess and guitar at the park
a younger man would ask of his wisdom
he never ceased in giving
the books smelled like home to him
the fruit trees smelled like grandma's
the bakery smelled like mom's
the rain felt like first love
the wind in his hair cuffed his memory
he came here when he was young
he missed his mountains
but his seashells and journals kept him company
he longed to play on a nice piano
the sunshine loved him back most days
he still wrote to her
but the letters never made it home
to his sweet sweet wife
lying beneath dirt.
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