Abandoned by Alex Conrad

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Upon the crest of that hill,
Yes, that one,
Lies an old, decrepit, falling-apart soul.
No one cared for it while it was alive,
No one cared for it while it was dying,
And definitely no one cares for it now that it’s dead.
But guess what, honey,
This old vagabond does, did, and always will.

Upon the crest of that hill,
Yes, that one,
Lies the former glory of my childhood.
I loved playing in the shade of that wise oak.
I remember backyard barbeques,
Play dates,
Romp-in-the-grass games,
Chasing that squirrel,
Being knocked over by my love behind that there,
Growing old,
Embraced by someone who loved me,
I thought there was something there,
But one day, he left me.
Just like that place up there on the hill.

And soon,
Upon the crest of that hill,
Yes, that one,
Shall I lie when my old, tired, saggy body
Longs to become one with Nature
Again becoming beautiful and lovely,
Again becoming lively and youthful.
But until that day,
I shall tell the story of that and this old soul.

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