…but from here; a boxed baggage bin,
in whatever vessel burning,
Point on into blank, frigid forths.
Andever vexed in yearning.
Blind Pilgrims; taxed temporal things
Kinshipbourne, trapped, as my fathers.
Captive on this course, We’re bound to be,
Forlorn, for treks on farther.
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For Daddy (3/21/29-5/29/59) Rest In Peace
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