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Wednesday, October 27, 2010



By Cynthia Rylant

He washed his feet for the picture,
even his knees,
and wondered about that man
who cared enough to want him to sit there
for a photograph
even though he didn’t have nothing good to hold in his hands,
nor even a dog to sit by his chair.
It gave him, briefly,
some sort of feeling
of just being

I was randomly reminded of this poem today.
I hadn't thought about it in so long, but I love it.


Please and thank you.

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