Six Feet

Beneath the old oak tree, framed in twilight, a lone silhouette, an old man with his box sat and watched while the graveyard spirits spoke of possibility and certainty.  Who is he?  Some say he is Peter waiting for the next soul, praying one of us in the cemetery will come to him. Some say he’s a figment, a representation of a life lived on earth, a faceless spirit of all who …

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