It’s true, too true, that I can’t reach out and touch you now.
You are in another land, a world away, or more than one I think.
And yet I feel your warm presence today, and the peace you carried with you.
I wish I had shared more with you when there was time. Just little things, like butterflies, and miners lettuce, and smooth white stones, but I did not, I could not, being myself,
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