Still

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The dead can’t see

Sniff, hear, sip, feel.

There’s nowhere to be

There’s nothing that’s real.

They’ve escaped life’s sorrow,

Not anxious about tomorrow.

The dead don’t cry.

Wonder when they die.

John Northcutt Young

From The Complete Poems of BREVITY

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About John Northcutt Young

I write. Remember making-up stories from spelling words in the fifth grade. A journalism degree followed. Thanks for looking. View all posts by John Northcutt Young

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