I will never forget the day that Hemingway died
Nor of how he died on ‘61’s second day of July
I was sixteen years old way back then
And far too much to the universe tuned in
I will never forget the shock that filled me as I cried
Deep inside a wounded creature not knowing why
Not even knowing much about the man I stood
Alone in silence surrounded by living woods
That were more than silent that day he died
To me they were, to me they were and yet
The world still moved and went its passing way
But in my heart, I knew something broke that day
Something strange that day had come and gone its way
The day that Papa died, yes that day on ‘61s second day of July 1/14/17
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As always beautiful, heartfelt and touching!
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This is a memory of my walk one day through the woods near Maywood, FL. There the Des Plaines River moves through those woods at a slow pace and in the Winter some of ponds there freeze. I used to play in those woods and I was familiar with every trail. For some reason I was completely alone and I sensed his death and it caught me cold. I was 16 and not someone really involved with writing but it all came to me and left me very cold and tearful and the memory has never passed.
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