Crossing Over
He awoke
to the sound of pouring rain,
the wind whistling
around the windmill tower,
the aroma of homemade toasted bread
and coffee brewing on the paraffin stove…
In a daze, eyelids heavy,
he heard distant voices.
“He breathes like a sparrow.
The time is near.”
A tear fell on his frail hand.
In the shadows
the ferryman patiently waited…
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A BRIAN STRAND 1097 Poetry Contest
Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2021
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