Every night, and every day,
Theres a man who waits to die,
Frail and thin, wrinkled and gray,
The waiting feels heavy to sigh,
...
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Only hugs, has he left to give, For as long as time will lend, .finally it is love tht counts......... our ability to love and to receive love remains with us till the end.......waiting. death... a fine poem. thank u dear poet. tony
A refined poetic imagination, Maddy J. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.