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Some say that rocker
has an aura, some say a halo.
Others know it is the many coats
of lacquer rubbed to mirror finish
by my grandfather
that gives the chair its light.

Lullabies rose up
from somewhere deep inside her;
soft scent of lilacs
drifted through the window.
The passing of so many years
has not dulled my senses.

I know that room
like the back of my hand —
feel its pulse as my own.
The floral wall paper
has not grown outdated. It ages
as she did, gracefully into fade.

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