Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
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
Written by
Ed Meek
Please log in to view and add comments on poems