There is

There are bikes
there breeze in my face
and a white hair on my head.

There is sun in my skin
my little boy holding my hand
looking up with his smile.

There are books
and my violin to play,
and tastes to create.

So much to feel,
to be wasting myself on this.

Be stronger,
this is just cold
spreading through my bones.

Sun, sun, Son.

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