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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


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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