Encore


One morning I walked into a room to find my daughter weeping holding on to my dad’s jacket. She had a dream of her grandpa who was her favorite person in the world, a few months after he had passed away.

My eyes chanced upon a girl

Her heart, beautiful like a pearl

Her face, enveloped in gloom

She was standing in that room

With unfurled hair

And her feet, bare

Eyes, soaking wet

Hands clinging to a jacket

Hugging her, I asked

“Why are you weeping?”

She said, “I dreamt of my grandpa

He would sit on the sofa

And tell me a folklore

Applauding my music galore

But he is no more

To shout for an encore!”

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