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View Diary: The Grieving Room: Fragile (107 comments)

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  •  A POEM I WROTE WHEN MY DAD WAS DYING (6+ / 0-)

    WISH

    If you must die, dear father,
    I hope that you will go
    To our campground on the Tangle
    Where the cold, sweet waters flow

    And cast from the rocky bank
    And let the current take your line
    And through the endless twilight
    Watch the moon and stars align

    And once again place a hand
    On the shoulder of a boy
    Who stands shivering beside you,
    Consumed with aching joy,

    And quickly reel your line in
    As voices call from camp
    But stop and hold the boy
    Against the falling chill and damp.

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