A Touch

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies,

my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting

or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made.

Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched

some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die,

and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted,

you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long

as you change something from the way it was before you

touched it into something that’s like you after you

take your hands away. The difference between the man

who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching,

he said. The lawn cutter might just as well not have been

there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”

~ Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

~~~

A touch…

Gentle touch

Firmly

Tendered

Is that

Gamine

Soft breeze

Timely,

Succoring

In searing

Times

Salving~

 

Along

The way

Plucking

Grimaces

From pain’s

Winces

Leaving

Indelible

Footprints

Making

A difference

In passing ~

II

A smile

Insouciant

Is that

Contagion

Launched

Infecting

Pall of gloom

Forcing spill

Of laughter peals

enveloped

Shut,

out of sight

Leaving

Its mark

In passing ~

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