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The fading tattered figure of my far away old friend

Dearest friend Nimal,
I too feel the cool breeze of Christmas through the broken windows in an isolated hospital here.The sickness wasn’t diagnosed yet; but I am sick once again.I dreamed a Santa Claus that resembles you my dear, but in reality, I understand the distance between us.Please try to respond to this letter soon at least in few lines as my days are numbered it seems.I enclosed here a poem that I am sure you grab as a keepsake.
Thanks & best regards
sincerely,
a friend in tears

Postscript
[ This is a Chinese old poem written by an unknown poet translated into English by Arthur Waley]
A man went to war when he was fifteen years of age.When he returned home he was eighty.On the way he met a man from his village and asked him where his house was and who was at home.He showed him the house a deserted place all covered with trees and bushes.

Rabbits had run in at the dog hole
And pheasants flew down from the beams of the roof.
In the courtyard was growing some wild grain; And by the wells some wild mellows.
Plucked the mellows and made soup.
But there is no one to eat them with.
While tears fell and wet my clothes.

*A report to my silent friend Dave Tanguay

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