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The Epitaph of Mr. Chin
Come hear the tale of Mr.Chin
Who dies a bit each day within
His dreams, he really can///'///t recall
The years went by and stole them all
The thief, `tis said, comes in the night
But these stopped by at morning light
With neither swords nor battle cries
And took them right before his eyes.
He now resides in middle age
He walks and talks but can`t engage
When others try, in vain attempt,
To dissipate his clear contempt
For any one with life or hope...
I guess it`s just his way to cope
With bitterness that chills his bones
So he`d just rather be alone
If Mr. Chin could have his way
My soul believes that he would say
To never love and never trust
They`ll grind you down to naught but dust
And leave you less afraid of death
Than endless hours of useless breath
And if, perchance, tonight`s his time
I left his epitaph in rhyme
Rakerman1
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