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Like dark rain splashing across my skies, These foaters blur my aging eyes. And the ears aren't any better, see, My hearing depends on a battery. At times my tongue trips on your name; Or wrong words spill out my brain. I find hairs where they don't belong, And crepe skin hanging lose and long. There's brown spots on my once clear skin, This aging thing is the real sin. I creak, I rattle, I leak and prattle, Cause no one listens when I speak. But, Remember this. I taught you how to use a spoon, Sang good-night songs in your room. Tucked you in, made you safe, Made your home your go to place. I sat you on your bicycle seat, And ran behind you down the street. I walked you to and from your schools, Shared with you my secret rules. And when the time comes that I'm gone, You'll remember I wasn't always wrong.
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Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 9:08 AM UTC
The Age of Floaters
Like dark rain splashing across my skies, These foaters blur my aging eyes. And the ears aren't any better, see, My hearing depends on a battery. At times my tongue trips on your name; Or wrong words spill out my brain. I find hairs where they don't belong, And crepe skin hanging lose and long. There's brown spots on my once clear skin, This aging thing is the real sin. I creak, I rattle, I leak and prattle, Cause no one listens when I speak. But, Remember this. I taught you how to use a spoon, Sang good-night songs in your room. Tucked you in, made you safe, Made your home your go to place. I sat you on your bicycle seat, And ran behind you down the street. I walked you to and from your schools, Shared with you my secret rules. And when the time comes that I'm gone, You'll remember I wasn't always wrong.
francie-lynch
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Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 9:08 AM UTC
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