John F. McCullagh (09/28/1954 / Flushing)
The old man sat on a log near the road,
with his faithful dog right by his side.
They had been walking
on the trail through the woods
when he’d felt something different inside.
Perhaps if I rest
For a bit T’would be best.
It is a hot day after all.
He looked at the trees
In their splendor of green
But the heat made him wish for the Fall.
He thought of the Love of his life,
Mary, his wife,
And part of him let fall a tear.
For clearly he knew that this pain in his chest
Gave proof that his own end was near
They found the old man on the log near the road
His faithful pet still by his side.
Death had come quickly
And his face seemed composed
Like a poet who’s finished his lines.
They found in his hands
His poet’s notebook
And the EMT read his last words:
You’re my Eve and my Eden;
Please don’t mar with your weeping
the face that I loved most of all.
But take care of the Garden
We tended together
Until I again come to call.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Last Words by John F. McCullagh )
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