Magdalene (17)

I remember you, George,
Tired as a rain-sotted leaf,
Flat against the pavement,
Gold in its surrender
To the dazed snow
Of your hospice days.

“Worn out,” you said,
The day before
Relinquishing the final gift
You thought you had in me.

I could not forgive your letting go
To leave me hanging in my guilt,
Forgetting you so quickly
In those brittle days
After whispering your last breath .

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