Poetry

HE DID NOT DIE

I wrote this, or something very similar when a dear friend of mine died nearly thirty years ago.

Just found it in the back of a book.

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He’s on the breeze

and in the trees,

just waits the chance

to show his dance.

I know I cried

and how you tried,

to keep me from this apathy.

But now they say insanity

has taken me away.

But they are wrong and I will stay

because he’s here

not far, but near.

He didn’t die,

I need not cry.

He’s in the wings

and when he sings

my heart will soar

tho’ I will be no more.

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