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Breakfast
With Fred
With one arm in heaven
The other fending off hell
The life he told me about
Was an ocean with swells,
With ebbing and flowing
Neap tides and high
He was one of a rare kind
You hoped never died,
He was very private
About all that he told
Asked that his story
Be a secret on hold,
In my mind Fred
Will always be there,
Every December third
I’ll pull up a chair.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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