His heart ran out of autumns,
he lived his last day,
Octobers are now melancholy,
in a very special way.
Seasons bring back memories,
especially the seasons he did love,
the arrival of the killing frost,
memories of harvest time now just above.
Sometimes I wonder,
and ask myself why,
life eventually becomes memories,
as those we love die.
With grandfather in my thoughts,
it is his memory I honor this day,
his heart ran out of autumns,
he had lived his last day.
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