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On the 8th anniversary of my father's death
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The Well of Grief
(David Whyte)

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the wall of grief

turning downward through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe

will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,

nor find the darkness glimmering,
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else.


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