Until the Drought of '88
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Until the drought of '88
Euphonic sounds adorned his walls,
as he, his wife, and daughter ate
and laughter tripped through carefree halls.
His wife caressed the ivoried keys
until the drought of '88,
their daughter sang with youthful ease;
each day a gift to celebrate.
That baby grand now bears the weight
of dust and silenced dreams once dreamed.
Until the drought of '88,
how strange such silence would have seemed.
Alas, a drunk behind the wheel
cut short his life at 28.
Unsullied joy was ours to feel
until the drought of '88.
In fond memory of my cousin Brian, killed by a drunk driver.
Copyright © John Watt | Year Posted 2020
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