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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1117793
I wrote this for my father, it was read at his funeral.

Another day given me,
precious they've become.
Thousands I have squandered
In the races I have run.

The wisdom of the old men,
I've found to be so true.
Each day a gift from God
From thousands to a few.

Don't worry about tomorrow
the sun shines today.
Go beyond what is sorrow
and mold yourself as clay.

Stare out life's window
as the sun unwraps your gift.
Set your compass northward
or your life will surely drift.

Dudley Hiles 2004
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