rich quatrone | the man who cried

THE MAN WHO CRIED

i am sitting alone in the back
room, in what used to be my sons’
room, in the past, when they were boys,
and life was very, very beautiful and
days seemed endless and we were all
protected by our love.


i sit here now alone. my sons are grown
men. i sit and type on a computer this
poem while i weep.

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