Poetry 'n Prose

O Abraham

O Abraham when you died,
I cried,
without relief,
it was the first and fiercest grief

of my younger days,
my innocent ways.
I was four
you perhaps a little more

or maybe less
yet I still bless
the memory
of all your presence meant to me

during those cold unfriendly years
of childish fears
through which you swam
O Abraham

laying there in the goldfish bowl
was your immortal soul.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

2 replies on “O Abraham”

Losing a pet at any age is heartbreaking, but to lose one at the age of four must have been very traumatic.

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