Dementia
My father,
Wished me merry Christmas this morning,
Yet he's my nearest relative,
I walk in the park, let the wind,
Blow through my hair,
Its baking hot,
Like a California Breeze,
If only,
The leaves are under my feet
My father,
Wished me merry Christmas this morning,
Yet he's my nearest relative,
I walk in the park, let the wind,
Blow through my hair,
Its baking hot,
Like a California Breeze,
If only,
The leaves are under my feet
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