Spots (A Poem)

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My eyesight is blurry. I cannot see as well. My hearing is off. I hear the ringing of a bell. I see spots before my eyes. They are red, white, and blue. I hear trumpets and clarinets, At least more than two. My spots like to travel. They go from west to east. The musical sounds Are a musical feast. Eyes are not focused. Hearing is not clear. Ah forget it. I'll just have a beer.