by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
He had not died.
But I was shocked to hear he would die.
On a spring night
his time might come or maybe not.
On a spring day
they would hold a service for him.
On and on I
thought of him and I felt sad.
On a quiet
day his soul would take a stroll
on the beach. His
pain would be gone and there would
be no worries over his condition.
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