How strange is the image in my mirror,
The space and continuum of time...
The reflection yields no recollection of me,
I see not one familiar facial line.
The babies were not in your portrait,
When I first caught a glimpse of your smile...
I never pictured us as a life time,
Following you on that first bright mile.
I tried to be the loving father,
As they extracted my every dime...
Feeling my last dreams fade away;
Hope dies, often in one's prime
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