The shaking hand leaves ink trails on the Paper,
Like blue veins showing through pale skin.
The whisper of his words lost between
The Cough and the Death Rattle as he begins.
Words whispered appear like ghosts upon the Page
No Laurels, No printing, No Publishing of this old Sage
Just a stack of Paper to Mark a lifetime of memories.
To show up at an estate sale pawed over by Curiousity
Shaking but determined he pens down the Paper
Another Document to be filed in a box for later
Like Dreams of Fantasy and tales of Enchantment...
Shaking Hands write, This is my last will, and testament...JMF