“Hey, sister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?”

Those times when we would

Walk across plains  to see

A place whose face was home

For a time; a nose and mouth

In addition to our own,

A pulse whose tick was echoed

Through the day, however far.

 

Our wrists are severed now but

The rhythm still goes on even though

No tie but nostalgia links our veins,

Our roots are intertwined by

The strengths we shared and

Weaknesses we endured together.

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