My gift of music seems trite and cliche
A cold, technological pseudo gift
I wish you would sit down and read today
All of these feelings you seem to have missed
Memories and wishes are more than old prose
They once pulled you back into our reverie
Doors you've ignored are beginning to close
From overgrown hope and lost fantasy
Then holding his hand to venture outside
More music appeared from one little heart
I noticed he has your comfortable stride
While walking -- tearing a small leaf apart
The gift of music through his rosebud lips
Is one you should try hard not to dismiss
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