Tinker Posted April 4, 2020 Share Posted April 4, 2020 Mr Jones from Wales He'd poke his head inside the office door on his daily walk. The gravel in his voice had a kind of crack and a squeak, the sound of an ancient. When he spoke his words carried a lilt and a brogue. Widowed and alone, with a twinkle and a smile he'd offer a "good morning" and sometimes a song. Then he'd tap his cane and continue on. ~~Judi Van Gorder Prompt: Write about someone you didn't know well. Quote ~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~ For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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