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on this rainy dawn
I am barefoot on a narrow stone
looking out through eyes blurred by emotion
seeking an unknown part of my past
and a place I must have known
would find me here

with no one yet to answer
but for me the purple buds are tempted
another week to stay

sorrow comes easily
as in the counting still –
of friends he seems
more willing than the rest
to listen as my heart concedes
I knew not when to break
or what of verses uttered now
would yesterday

welcome my tears
a hundred times – of listening
volumes unconfessed
across a lifetime
separated –
words of love

. . .

Author’s Note: My grandpa, D. B. George
June 13th – 45 years since they told me you were gone.