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Circle

John Faylo

My grandfather lay dying
in sheets white like snow.

We stood around him and listened
to the same talk we had heard
for seventy years. He tried to change
the world to suit himself but
nothing worked. He said

nobody ever listened to him.
The world was falling apart and
no one would be there.
When he died
I couldn’t help but notice
his hands were so soft
like the day he was born.

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