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By John I. Blair

I always want to fix whatís wrong,
Jolly up the sad, mollify the mad,
Even if I know it canít be done.

For picking up the pieces, mopping up
The mess, working out the bugs
Makes me feel strong.

But age and pain,
Accident and sheer bad luck
Send ills that I canít mend.

And when pills and patches
Will not help,
Hugs alone remain.

©2004 John I. Blair  

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