The dying of an adult child

Day 7

Made of sticks and stones

There may be grey in your hair.

Your skin may hold a deathly pallor.

But as I wipe the sweat from your brow

I think of the seven year old

Bike riding, hair wildly flying

And you will always be that child to me.

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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