He worked extremely hard at his craft . . . . . 

but no one seemed to appreciate it. The poet turned in his notice last year. Awards had became commonplace, but he never measured up in the eyes of his family. They wanted him to plow, plant, water and harvest. He wanted to create. They miss his creations. He once told a friend “a great fisherman is just flesh and bones at a hunting camp” 

I appreciate his work after the fact. I met him once and thought him odd. I would love to have been a person that recognized him and showed appreciation. I hope he felt it somewhere. 

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