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North American Dreaming: Precious Time

William Burkholder’s poem is filled with the tears of regret of a son who failed to communicate with his father.

Tears falling,
not supposed to cry,
who knows behind closed doors?
Fighting so hard not to,
grunting to hold them back and losing.
Thinking of times missed in life,
when I was angry and away.
Aye life is short,
such a shame and a waste
of precious time
that could have been spent
learning from each other.
Yes,
I had something to bring to the table,
and late in your life, I think you realized that.
I hope so.
I need to believe that;
based on our talks I know it is true.
We will talk again soon Dad.
When my time comes to cross the bar,
I know you will be waiting there,
with open arms,
until then pop,
until then.

**

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