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The Five Senses of Grief

Fried, Norman J. Phd

doi: 10.1097/01.COT.0000343813.60846.ea

When you died, I felt your breath release you

And you traveled to a place others only dream about.

I saw your beloved sink with sorrow

Like a flower drinking drops of heavy rain.

I smelled your hand, cedar-wood and musk

Seasoned from years of holding prayer books and children.

I heard your voice say “It won't be long now,”

As your soul labored to be born, your pain bearing its own cure.

I tasted salt and sweat, my mouth unaccustomed

To the flavors in this new land of grief.

And now a year has passed

And you are still not here. Your beloved's heart aches,

For you will always be missing.

And her senses ripen, waiting for the chance

To touch you again

© 2008 Lippincott Williams & Wilkins, Inc.
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