From the depths the two mile fast walk brings sweat
Pencil thin the sidewalk’s letters
His influence now set in stone
Did he ever produce son or daughter?
Give them a tool more fine?
Will his face and voice travel through time?
Last night the car was egged
Prank predictable as a boy writing in wet cement
Fortunate for me
More easily removed than hardened rock
I too write my name
Perhaps it will outlast Jason’s
If something solid can be given.

by Bill Grace

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