his hat, his lock, still smells of him...

two man-made birds

on flights of death

two man-made eyes

take one last breath

two-thousand plus

are laid to rest

two worldly wars

two vows of peace

two million souls

to say the least

two million shrouds

drape those deceased

two paths in life

one road to take

forever two choices

never to fates

too close to now

too near to wait

maybe tomorrow

maybe too late


written by my father, R.H. Austin


3.19.53 - 1.26.12

#selfportrait #words

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