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Papa's Hat
Gwendolyn Gourdon |
To some it's just a hat
That hangs upon my wall,
Others see the stand,
Before the fatal fall.
I see a little man
Worn by years and tears
Holding on to the hand of the past
Just to calm his fears.
He wore this hat with pride
That many a poor man know,
He wore it on his dying bed...
Lonely, sick, and old.
Shaded sun from his sweating brow,
And kept him dry from rain,
Pulled down low upon his face
To ease the winter wind's pain.
Lessons from the past...
Well remembered,
Once buried memories now take center stage,
As this hat holds fast as a bookmark,
Until someone turns the page.
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