Friday, December 12, 2014


When they moved into the Facility
The wife put a picture in the hall
Just to the left of the door
An ink painting of two Chinese men,
Obviously friends, chatting among trees
They are barefoot; laborers, perhaps
The sun is low in the sky so one man
Has put his broad hat on the ground
Plainly they'd be content to spend
An eternal afternoon together
Occasionally one will wonder
"The old people who lived here --
What ever happened to them?"

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