Page 43 - Contrast1984v26
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That August afternoon ten years past
I knocked Grandpa's fishing pole
in the black-green water of Sebec Lake
and it slid easily down as if it knew
where to go.
This August morning, mist and rain mingle
as four grandsons lift his coffin
and set it above the square cut grave.
The grey coffin sinks in black dirt
feeling snug.
Vav;'d M. &ur.g U.6
