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Rip Van Winkle

A gentle slumber, 
On one treacherous 
December afternoon
Few drops of cheap
Sparkling Chardonnay 
Met one Rip Van Winkle
Trudging through meandering
Folds of Catskill mountains
Blabbering majesty of 
King George the great, 
Staring amusingly at the
Denim pants; cellular in 
Hands, wheeling of the 
Eagle afloat, howling of 
The winds, chirping of the 
Brook below, in semi 
Delirious state saw a
Flowing silverish beard
A foot long, smoking pipe 
Things have changed 
Wondered he, for sure 
Bygone are the days of 
Innocent laughters, idyllic 
Vacations, gone are the days
Where the only malady a 
Broken heart, only worry a 
Loaf of bread.

( Inspired from the short-story Rip Van Winkle by Washington Irving. The story was first published in 1819. Its story about a drunk drunk Dutch American who falls asleep in Catskill mountains and wakes up from slumber after twenty years after American Revolution. I was reading this story couple of months back and was inspired to pen down a poem)

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