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once upon a time a young man said
the elderly grew old
until all were dead
when the next generation did soon arrive
another century they would survive

yet strangely enough
those who passed
were seldom remembered in younger hearts
their life was beginning
complex and wound
all up in pieces
then tightly bound
as if in a ball
rolling into the future
away from the past

yet on Saturday night
at the veranda’spoetry door
I could see my grandfather’s presence once more
with a summer breeze
against a strong shirt’s arm

he held my hand
before the storm
before the future
had all but arrived
after the past
had been and gone

and my mind cast back
to the transient young man
who suffocated tradition
as he closed the door
on all the grandfather’s
and the generations before