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For Paul



 For Paul, my poet friend...


Pitcher of Sorrow 

As I grow older I've found myself 

Filling up a pitcher of Sorrow

My tears don't come instantly

like they used to.

They wait for the right Tomorrow.


A few will pass...

 and the pitcher grows full

With each one, another ounce closer to the brim

Overflowing and ready to pour 

Will it be her or that or him?

I let the pitcher of Sorrow flow steady 

Ready to pour

When it is ready.


An even stream of all it has collected, 

fermented

A good tearful salty pitcher 

not for drinking...

A cheers to a life cemented. 


You were the one who reached the brim,

I pour the pitcher of Sorrow now for the ones collected within

You set them all free.

A steady, liquid pour 

The pitcher couldn't hold any more.













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