October's Child

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Words stumbled across a tattered page
Like tumbleweeds devoid of withered root
One so learned my idol sage
There is no price for my heart's tribute

There are no wandering words to whisper
On wayward winds to silently soar
Letters of life became gentle to stir
Prepared and penned thru this mentor

I sailed rough waters without an oar
Words swimming in voiceless view
Standing with quill I scribbled and tore
Shriveled mentations of rhyme so few

Reaching toward some place in time
Words to pen stared back so daring
The mentor was winging words of kind
Behind my wall I waited the sharing

Intricate wording splashed blank pages
Ink flowing free awaiting the drift
The echo resounded down through the ages
No tattered wanderings, but a mentor's gift

A tribute to my mentor

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