The Good Old Days
In the good old days,
when his voice boomed
as he strummed his guitar
and everyone sang along.
When his strong arms
held me and I felt safe.
When he walked in long strides
with a little bounce in his step.
When his penmanship was beautiful
and he’d tell how his teacher
used to make him demonstrate
for other kids to learn.
Seems odd that good old days
were only a few months ago.
Before the stroke.
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