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Michael Blace May 2014
I play a note.
I play a song.
It echoes down
The empty hall.

The sweetened tune
I used to play,
Has fallen flat;
Has turned to gray.

It doesn’t move you
Anymore.
I don’t know who
I’m playing for.

My favorite song
For my best friend.
It’s all for you,
It’s always been.

— The End —