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Looking at Our World Through Poetry: A Touch

I hold in my hand A book A book you gave me The night before surgery A night when you were afraid for me.

I look again At the passages You marked And I realize anew How much you cared How very much you loved me. I caress The covers of this beloved book Beloved because you touched it Beloved because you gave it to me In my moment of need; In your moment of fear When you didn’t know What else to do. So many years have passed So many caresses of those pages And of these covers. So many moments When my touch of these pages Have brought you nearer to me. I touch my gift of words Lovingly; Soothingly; The way I used to touch your face And I feel Your presence near As it was, in my hospital room So many years ago. I touch the words you wrote Softly; Gently; And I see again The beauty of your smile When you knew that I was Going to be alright. I feel your hand as it touches mine, I feel your hand as you give me this gift; As we talk About matters both heavy and light; No other man’s hand Has ever felt like yours does. Your hand So soft So strong Yet so gentle And in your touch I feel your love. That Current of reciprocal Understanding and trust That is so special to us Sparks once again Through this book From your hand To my hand And, again, I know I am loved. Copyright Betty Stockley 2000

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