GRANDPA

Rustle of crisp pages stilled the air.
Antique Scribbles smelled of rain,
Mixed with freshly-mowed lawn in spring
On the eve of an unwanted passing.

Chest heaved fast, catching air—
Salty drops warmed stone-cold cheeks,
Cleansing a pale skin.
I wanted to hear what silence had to say.

And the Last Words came,
tranquilizing an almost centenarian flesh to rest—
In peaceful surrender,
Lids closing.

© Gheeneil

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