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You died under a bridge,

On your way home through Old Darnley –

something I wish I could change,

but know I cannae.

 

Your short life lived caring for others –

never yourself.  God, you were worth so much more!

 

I keep expecting to see you

rounding the corner – blue carrier filled with

morning rolls, cans of juice, this morning’s papers.

 

Instead, I watch tears fall from the cheeks

of all who loved you. You

 

the gentlest man -

infectious laugh

that still brings a smile to my face.

 

your voice still resonates

inside my head

 

your scent lingers on

like the sadness we never knew existed -

until you were gone.

 

Faced with the finality of goodbye,

Wee Granny said, What am I gonnae dae

ma Golden Boy?

 

We don’t know, because

you were oor Golden Boy tae.

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