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Rated: E · Poetry · Tragedy · #1810994
Mourning a loss.
MY CHILDHOOD FRIEND


We were friends from the cradle.
Free spirits both, together we played
In our huge country playground.  No limits
For imagining or acting.

As toddlers, adolescents, then teens
We learned of the future and talked
Of what we would become. Together.
But who could tell what the future held?

When I got the call everything changed.
Johnny Ling is dead at 17.

Am I crying for him?
Or for me?



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