Last Walk Poem by J.M. Nixon
Last Walk
I douse my withered feet.
The curling skin crackles.
A torching pain boxes the body.
The salve does not relieve.
Nor beseeching curses nor rosary beads.
Yellowy hooves worn and raw.
They have tread long, painful roads.
The final journey nears.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: journey
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8/24/2026 4:27:29 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
