Winter winds down sleepily, draped in fog,
Not unlike a well fed but useless life.
A windy chill warmed by a fire’s log,
Still somehow cuts the body like a knife.
Let go of unreal hope and fantasy,
Dot all the i’s and put papers in order.
And accept that my dreams are not to be,
As my life is ten years from Death’s border.
Go out and live, my handsome Baby Bro’,
Fill your perfect hands with wine and women.
Sing songs and immortalize wolf and crow,
Dive into oceans I can’t now swim in.
I’ll sit in my house, watching with a smile,
Just try to wave to me once in a while.
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