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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 03-June 11:16:14 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 168085
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => These old hands.
[time] => 2011-10-25 10:11:55
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => These old hands are raw, destroyed by a lifetime of work. What have I worked for? I once knew, or at least I thought I did, But now I’ve forgotten. These hands are in pain, pain from the misfortunes of a lifetime, For my son has died on this day. What a dreadful day it has been. He asked me to play, and I told him to go away “Dad’s working, go play by yourself” My son has died on this day and what do I have to show for it? Money. My worthless money. I would give it all away, just to take back what I said today. And play with my son, who deserved a father who would love him and take care of him, But I was none of those things. I can see now, only now that it’s too late, how horrible I have been, How Horrible I am. Take these words of advice for they’re all these old hands have left to give. Love your loved ones, and treat them good, Treat them how they deserve to be treated, Like how I should have treated my son. Go now, go to them. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 280 [topic] => 39 [informant] => banda5k1 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Grief )
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