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Rigor mortis

Strong hands,
scarred from work's toll.
Wounded testimony
to life's toil.

Every mark,
a moment
carved in time.
Etched in faded memories.

Rigid now,
ordained by death's decree
a resting place
for well-worn wooden beads.

No more,
the subtle thread
through fingers
seeking solace
in whispered supplication.

the sacred chant
that soothed your soul
and strengthened your resolve
to clench in vice-like grip
what destiny determined.

At peace now
joined in prayer
and resting,

Eternal rest.
A cradle substituted for a grave.

Former Philly resident turned Irish schoolteacher, honing writing skills on Fanstory. Now, a novelist with "Irish Eyes" debut. 📚🍀