Comments about Mark Simmons
Gregory’s dead and gone away,
I begged him, “Please, oh won’t you stay?
You’ve been here so long, yet I knew you not,
We could have been friends, but we only fought.”
His spirit was fading, bland and old;
A face creviced by wrinkles, his shy eyes cold.
Turning slowly, he shot me a frown,
A vague voice began to float slowly around.
It bounced of the walls, waves subtle but quaint.
The voice of a man, held down by restraints.
It said, “I’m bided away, for my time is done,
You must move along and live your life son.”
For my father Gregory, was...