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Ed Meek Sep 2016
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.
Poem about my uncle Bill

— The End —