To the ward shuffling doctors
he was a flower, a faded and preserved image
pressed within the dry sheets of a hospital bed,
and something to ponder over,
for a moment, before moving on.
But we learned to communicate.
He could use the language of stars, city lights and owls,
a Morse code that few understood.
As to his body it was a prison,
with his
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Thanks for the link. Interesting reading.
HePo
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