The old man knew he was lucky
and that was enough. His bed was hard, like a prison bed
or so he imagined. He was going to leave life forever
and fly the coop. He had a nice wife. She brought him a rose, each morning with pancakes,
although, he couldn’t eat them. The cancer was eating him. Funny, that he wasn’t hungry, but the cancer was.
Fred smiled.
His eyes closed.
His wife cried.
He was lucky.
Then,
he wasn’t there.
Depressing true and poignant
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Thanks for reading someone!
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Its a sad experience. Wishing you peace
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Thanks, kinge! 🙂
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Welcome
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A beautiful post. Thank you for sharing
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Thanks, CG! 🙂
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As a disability sufferer, I relate perfectly.
Thank you for liking my poem
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🙂
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comedy and sadness that’s the name of the game – nicely written
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