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Seated in a rocking chair,
Auditing the price of memories;
Pleasantly pensive as their colors
Rhyme with a song in my head.

A priceless smile on my mother’s face
Almost alters her facial bone structure.
Painfully contract my eyes as I increase
Resolution of memory and smile in sync.

Big round eyes,
Sly and surfeit with sincerity,
Kick me over to Nostalgia,
As I break down and cry.

Forty-two years,
Only witnessed about a half of that.
Apparently, tomorrow is never
Promised to anyone.

Now all I do is renovate;
Memory lane wears off over time.
Time has taken away 
An unfair share already.

Inexorably tempted to object
And scream in protest against God,
But what if he reverse asks,
When Was The Right Time?

“Deep Time!”
I would carelessly answer.
Because I will love her past
The death of cosmos.

©HerbertUba2017

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