In the quiet hours before dawn,
I woke and went to him.
His breathing had stilled,
his pallor echoing the memory of my father’s last rest.
Yet warmth lingered in his skin.
He had gone but only just.
In my heart, I saw her there,
His Ginny, waiting with the smile he’d loved for a lifetime.
They turned toward the veil,
hand in hand,
and as they passed me sleeping,
their voices brushed against my dreams:
We’ll be just up the road.
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