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White Paper Bone

His yellow jaundice skin,
As if he had breathed,
All that was left…in…
To be forever held;
Shrivelled, vacuum-packed,
Around bone.

Quite the thing to see,
For a boy of twelve,
yet he had one last,
Poetic touch…
For as he passed, silently,
Several, of his tears fell…
For as he passed,
Silently he spoke to…
He weeped, for us…

That is it, for now,
As it, is all,
Even after these, many years…
All, that I can, hold;

My words, his skin,
Upon white paper bone…