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His Spirit
Every night,
his spirit visits me
His dark hair
has faded
But, his weak smile
and pale face
is still the same
He plays the piano
and I dreamily listen
He reads
a romance novel
and I drift away
to the clouds
We jam
to the vinyl record
and dance
to our favourite song
until daybreak
When the sun
is about to rise,
he speaks to me
of the weight
he carries
on his shoulders
and I listen
to his voice which is
full of melancholy
Why did he have to go away?
Why is it so ill-fated?
I ask myself
but never ask him
as my sorrowful silence
is my only hope
that his spirit
would visit me
every night
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