In the meadow of memories,
I see his shadow blink,
As his face retires behind the valley
Until I can't hear his engine's thunder.
His body is buried underneath my boots,
His brown eyes remain in my mind.
The stone winter of farewells
Aren't forgiven for.
His great gray grave is faded for judgment
His name comes, instant torrent.
I suppose he never surrendered to go
To the stories unknown to tell.
In the orange of a sweet-sun,
His soul grows single there,
In a tree he painted with respect.
Water of tears, my care, my divine honor
Showered into his soil, for this leaves to live-
To the stories unknown to tell.
I give petals there, for ideas.
He was their blossom's wink,
For my eyes to delight his humor.
Special tones of time bring pictures closer,
To visions of favored yesterdays with him.
His brown eyes remain in my mind.
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