A Final Goodbye
Branches piled with heavy snow
bend under its icy weight.
And dark clouds gather into
inky blots that bruise the sky.
Twilight retreats into night
moments before I arrive.
And a loud cough greets my knock
as sounds of life stir within.
Hank has lived in this old shack
since the trees were mere saplings.
And the door opens to a smile
warmly inviting me in.
Each year just before Christmas
I bring Hank some provisions.
And late at night we spin yarns
while staring into the fire.
You couldn't pay me enough
for one of Hanks’s toothless grins.
And for many years I’ve come
without seeking thanks or praise.
The day my knock’s unanswered
I’ll know Hank has left this Earth.
And I will cry, as I bid
my friend a final goodbye.
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