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Jun 2017
The Agèd Hands of Time have reached yet another
Toll of the bell.

12 years have passed since I’ve last seen her in this life. Distance and sickness in our being had robbed us both of Streams of time which passed like a long cold winter into
Her death. These lost memories often create overexposed
And superimposed photo negatives of imaginary frames
Of time I desperately imprint to hold tightly in my heart
And mind.

But I still hold tightly in memory to her soft voice on the
Phone and pictures of split second frames of physical time     My sister would send me. Many people don’t even have

In this life she loved to mother her three grown children
And flower garden as near as she could to the end. It was
In her nature to nurture her resilient perennial children
And help make the move easier for her annual foster  
Children from a confined existence to a deep soft warm
Bed of comfort.

Stamped on my mind is not the faded and worn
Bruised and torn image of her outward shell in the
Trauma Center at age 88
But the indelible inner and outward image at age 38 --
A lovely young mama who tucked her little boy in bed
Every night with a song and a prayer --
The little boy that is still alive in this man.

The Agèd Hands of Time have reached yet another
Toll of the bell.

--Daniel Irwin Tucker
My poem, The Agèd Hands of Time, posted two days ago, works in concert with this poem which I wrote one year ago today.
Daniel Irwin Tucker
Written by
Daniel Irwin Tucker  M/Canada
         Sally A Bayan, Eiram N, Terry Jordan, ---, Woody and 28 others
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