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


  1. As always beautiful, heartfelt and touching!


    1. 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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