the skin on his
hands was fragile
and it had these
random spots
his eyes wrinkled
over when he smiled
and became distant
when in thought
there was kindness
in his gaze
and in the slow
movements of his head
as he led us through
the maze
of life, in the
poems that he read
don’t cry for me,
said he
standing on the
stage
his wrinkled face
lined with age
as the tears ran
down my cheeks
for his poems were
splendid peeks
into his life of
sorrow
an ocean of grief
save up your
sympathy
he said, with a wan
smile
for sure, I have
been down awhile
and i’ve had enough
cause to mourn
but there are
others that even i
have hurt, and left
forlorn
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