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What were those old men thinking

When sitting in their brownish giant chairs

Smoking precisely shaped wooden pipes

For endless hours of not moving an inch

Thinking and smoking I recall their picture

Those who did so much

On so many days in their lives

They marched and fought

They got loved and got taught

They suffered and recovered

They took care and uncovered

And then after years of achieving

Of guilt and grieving

Of rebuilding and new building

They seemed to sit there in stillness

And made sure the pipe was neatly prepared

So that it would give them moments of joy

Covered in wonderful smoke smelling like a day in their childhood

Before they had to be brave men

When their dads were smoking that same pipe

This must have made them feel alright.

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