At The End Poem by Ed Meek
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.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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4/17/2024 8:29:37 AM # 1.0.0.1119
An evocative, well written piece