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The old man died

And no one cried

They simply turned away

And when he died

He left a table made of nails and pride

And with his hands he carved these words inside

"For my children"

Morning light

Morning bright

I spent the night

With dreams that make you weep

Morning time

Wash away the sadness from these eyes of mine

For I recall the words the old man signed

"For my children"

And the legs were shaped with his hands

And the top made of oaken wood

And the children sat around this great table

Touched with their laughter

Ah, and that was good


An old man died

And no one cried

He surely died alone

And truth is sad

For not a child would claim the gift he had

The words he carved became his epitath

"For my children"