He was a writer and a poet
A real writer though if you can understand,
He would bleed words all over the page.
Notebook after bloodynotebook.
Piled up on the table and in his wardrobe
And his wife
Would say how he was always writing,
Even when he was supposed to be doing else.
He would journey back to his childhood in his mind
And tell us stories.
To catch the train, he and his sister
(Who was five years older),
Would have to walk across the neighbour’s farm to get to the little platform.
Then they would wave the train down with a flag
And it would puff to a stop so they could climb aboard.
One year, when he was about twelve years old,
Some kids started catching the train to school with them.
They were working on the farm nearby
And they were dirt…
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