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Thursday, August 13, 2015

At The End

He was so old his bones seemed to swim in his skin.
And when I took his hand to feel his pulse
I felt myself drawn in. It was as faint
as the steps of a child
padding across the floor in slippers,
and yet he was smiling.
I could almost hear a river
running beneath his breath.
The water clear and cold and deep.
He was ready and willing to wade on in.
Ed Meek
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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COMMENTS
Kelly Kurt 13 August 2015
An evocative, well written piece
0 0 Reply

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