Year: 
2019

she wanders
her soft arms stretched, as
the widower lets forth hi
s final death
rattle,
the son takes his las
t tumble
i watch, from away,
as she goes on.
habitute , as it is

i had dreamt of her soft embrace
once
when i was man
walking thru life
somnambulic paces
not knowing
as i know now
but
feeli
ng
more than i, again
will ever

our quarrel neve
r endst n still
as i do yearn,
stronger now,
i am but a will o’ the wisp
against my own wishes
and hers

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