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A Poem for Jim

He Forgot to Wake up

 

He was old

He looked frail

Rangy and stringy

A gaunt emaciated bean pole

Aloof yet interesting

Private yet companionable

 

And he wrote words of joy

Words which painted pictures

Told stories of people and places

Our people

Our places

History, biography and fiction

Often presented as one

 

An unrecognised legend

Working solitary and alone

Each word carefully placed

Reminding us of his skill

As a narrator

A storyteller

 

Reminding us of our people

Of our history

Weaving his magic on a page

To be retold forever

Until

He collapsed

As old people often do

His story ending

At the age of 86

When he just

 

Forgot to wake up

 

One morning

 

 

 

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