The calling

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At 31, he felt complete.

Married now, a dad soon.

A big house, he owned cars.

But, something still itched his heart,

A faded meek linger in his ears.

A slow whisper now,

About to dwindle.

But the urge remains.

Once a sculptor,

He swooned hearts.

He moulded expressions out of clay,

Carving prolonging memories.

When all went silent, he heard the call.

A call so true, sweet as music,

The sound of happiness,

Into his laden ears.

Poking him, to embrace the whittler inside.

The calling has arrived.

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