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Array ( [sid] => 33737 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Hank The Poet [time] => 2004-02-03 23:26:10 [hometext] => Never was a name on his stone.. [bodytext] => So here we stand across the clearing,
in this field where poppies grow.
Not a dark cloud anywhere in site,
just the breeze blowing to and fro.

My family surrounds me as we walk through,
and I point out the names I see.
The gravestones withered with years of time,
but outlined so intricately.

There lies my father dead and gone.
He died when I was four.
There is my mother's grave, over there,
who died just months before.

My uncles and aunts, who passed away,
are beside my parents, in a row.
They all wanted to be together always,
through rain, through shine, through snow.

I watched my little girl and boy,
as they played catch around the stones.
My husband held my hand so tight,
when the tears just started to flow.

I laid my head on my husbands shoulder,
and cried for the death at my feet.
I pulled away to yell for the kids,
for it was time for us to retreat.

They were sitting quite a distance away,
in front of a grave off to it's own.
I walked over to where they were sitting,
and it was just a plane grave stone.

I looked into my daughter's eyes,
and she asked why it was blank.
She said that she knew his name,
and that his name was Hank.

I asked her how she knew his name,
and a smile played across her face.
She said a man handed her this paper,
then left without a trace.

I opened the paper rather quickly,
to see what was inside.
And what I read made me gasp,
and sent shivers up my spine.

"To all I say,
from this unmarked grave,
a man lay dead and gone.
I was he,
some time ago,
now left to carry on.

My name was Hank,
but my gravestone blank,
and now you all will know why.
They left it plain,
because there is no fame,
for the rhyming poet that dies."
[comments] => 2 [counter] => 208 [topic] => 38 [informant] => Jazz [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Tributes )
Hank The Poet

Contributed by Jazz on Tuesday, 3rd February 2004 @ 11:26:10 PM in AEST
Topic: Tributes



So here we stand across the clearing,
in this field where poppies grow.
Not a dark cloud anywhere in site,
just the breeze blowing to and fro.

My family surrounds me as we walk through,
and I point out the names I see.
The gravestones withered with years of time,
but outlined so intricately.

There lies my father dead and gone.
He died when I was four.
There is my mother's grave, over there,
who died just months before.

My uncles and aunts, who passed away,
are beside my parents, in a row.
They all wanted to be together always,
through rain, through shine, through snow.

I watched my little girl and boy,
as they played catch around the stones.
My husband held my hand so tight,
when the tears just started to flow.

I laid my head on my husbands shoulder,
and cried for the death at my feet.
I pulled away to yell for the kids,
for it was time for us to retreat.

They were sitting quite a distance away,
in front of a grave off to it's own.
I walked over to where they were sitting,
and it was just a plane grave stone.

I looked into my daughter's eyes,
and she asked why it was blank.
She said that she knew his name,
and that his name was Hank.

I asked her how she knew his name,
and a smile played across her face.
She said a man handed her this paper,
then left without a trace.

I opened the paper rather quickly,
to see what was inside.
And what I read made me gasp,
and sent shivers up my spine.

"To all I say,
from this unmarked grave,
a man lay dead and gone.
I was he,
some time ago,
now left to carry on.

My name was Hank,
but my gravestone blank,
and now you all will know why.
They left it plain,
because there is no fame,
for the rhyming poet that dies."




Copyright © Jazz ... [ 2004-02-03 23:26:10]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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Re: Hank The Poet (User Rating: 1 )
by emystar on Tuesday, 3rd February 2004 @ 11:40:18 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
Wow!
This is really amazing.
Very well written.
I take it that this is a true story?
Thanks for sharing this.
Great job.
huggs, luv,
emy


Re: Hank The Poet (User Rating: 1 )
by CarrieLynn on Tuesday, 17th February 2004 @ 03:30:07 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
what a different yet adorable poem... I may not know much about poetry except that i like to write it and read it but that poem is one of a kind i have never read a poem quite like it...




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