I wrote this piece for my father one year for his birthday. He
always denies his own age, and offers another in it's place.
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For all the years you have skipped,
I give thee this,
a simple gift.
For all the years you have lived,
I give thee this,
a simple poem.
For all the years you won�t have,
I give thee this,
a simple truth.
A simple truth in a simple poem,
your simple age,
is not 29, but 42.
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