I don't feel death coming,
no, not yet.
Neither is he going,
having thrown up his hands,
for the moment still
standing on my doorstep.
Yet, I feel like I know him
better than that,
those arms that held me
for a while, like a friend.
And when we meet again,
there will be between us
a secret bond to ponder on.
Though should he choose to tarry
upon my worn stone stoop,
I hope he will listen to my stories
of all the weight I’ve carried
for so far, and far too long.
fin
"Unknown" HP Author
This is a past post from an "unknown" HP author...such a salient piece!
If you know the identity of this poet, can you please let me know.
Thank you, God bless.