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Carol
Upon the eve of dying
she could not speak.
And all her opened tear ducts
Sprang awake
And flooded forth from
The founts of creation
A new sea.
Oh, yes!
She cried a sea of tears
Because her words
Had passed the door of possibility,
Because her boys
Would not be there
For her to comfort them,
Because, perhaps
A whole life
Needed to be grieved.
How I loved her.
She could hear the simple, humble things
That no-one else could hear,
That I would trust none other
Than her heart to listen to.
It was like having my own wise, quiet mom, again.
And now on the eve of dying,
Now she cries,
And the seas are flooded with light,
And her form rises lightly
From her bed,
And she is gone
- Except, perhaps, for a single tear
Copyright ©
Andrew Fairchild
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