by David Maurice
You died with a look I never saw
You died with a book I never read
left on your end-table, past glories
and mornings left to dust over in the
ever settings of a sun black and covering,
moons covered, you were my best friend
I never called, we were both of the old book,
When a person is around and a letter
has to be agonized over because there
is no resend.
Author's Note: My Uncle just died. I was told in a grocery store. When I got home, I found I had bought dog food, and I own a cat.
Posted on 10/29/2011
Copyright © 2021 David Maurice